


Fly Home To Me

by beautifullights



Series: everyone has scars [12]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Badass Finn, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Force Mind Probe, Competent Finn, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/F, Gen, Hurt Poe Dameron, M/M, Self-Sacrifice, Skywalker Family Feels, Space Battles, Stormtrooper Rebellion, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 134,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullights/pseuds/beautifullights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Freedom Squadron,” Finn rasps. “They—” He swallows hard. “They are going to recondition us. Try to hold out as long as you can. Don’t—don’t give up hope yet. You have free will. You have names. Try—try to remember who you are.” Deep breath. “It has been an honor to fight with you.”</p><p>Finn mutes his comm for the last time. “Poe,” he says, into the silence of his cockpit. “I love you. Remember that, please. Remember that."</p><p>///</p><p>Kylo’s silent for a moment. “And the payment would be…”</p><p>“Myself." Poe forces his voice to remain steady. “I am offering myself, as payment.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Poe bows his head and waits. <em>“Deal.” </em></p><p>NOW COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to my wonderful beta-reader [Zoe_Dameron!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Dameron/pseuds/Zoe_Dameron) This is an intragalactic ~130k epic ballad, featuring Stormpilot, Reyva, Poe hurting so pretty, BAMF Finn, Rey shouting at Kylo, and Kylo shouting back. Starting out with a mini prologue today, updating three times/week from here on out. Let me know what you think!
> 
> (Yes, my friends: this is the MEGAFIC. Having been working on this for months now, I am ~~terrified~~ thrilled to start posting it at last.)
> 
> Highly recommended to read the rest of the [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/388042), as this will rely on headcanons from most of the previous fics.
> 
> (Am I seriously pleased to have predicted part of TLJ? Why yes, yes I am.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what  
> massacre  
> happens to my son  
> between  
> him  
> living within my skin.  
> drinking my cells.  
> my water.  
> my organs.  
> and  
> his soft psyche turning cruel.  
> —from 
> 
> ( _Salt_ , by Nayyirah Waheed)

 

“It’s just that—he’s so angry all the time. Anything that happens, anything I do, or Han, or Chewie—he just lashes out. Lyren’s still in medbay with a broken leg, three contusions on his ribs, and a cracked skull from the way Ben flung him up against a tree. It’s only a matter of time before someone dies. Luke, he’s—he’s turning into another Vader. He’ll destroy all of the peace we’ve been working for, same as Vader did.”

“Even Anakin still had Light in him, Leia. You can’t give up.”

“I’m not—I don’t _want_ to give up on him,” Leia’s voice scratches painfully in her throat.

“He’s my _son_ , Luke. And I know there may still be hope for him. I know that Vader saved your life. But Vader didn’t turn until he was an adult, and he had so many reasons—his mother’s death, and the Council forbidding his relationship with our mother, and Palpatine’s influence—Ben’s only _fifteen,_ and he’s already—”

Leia’s hands clench into fists. “Luke. I know you’re a good teacher, and a great Jedi, but—you’re only one man. You had so little time with Obi-Wan and Yoda. Even the entire Jedi council wasn’t able to stop Vader, once he turned. If we’re going to stop him, we have to act _now_. Before he turns, and before he gets any more powerful. I don’t intend to be responsible for unleashing the next Sith on the galaxy. You have to work with him, calm him, make him see—”

“I’ve _been_ trying to teach him.” Luke’s voice is gentle as ever. “It’s not working.”

“ _Trying?”_ Leia shouts. “You’re the one who’s always saying do—”

“ _Doing_ , then. I have been _doing_ all I can to help him find peace.”

“Then why isn’t he better now, Luke? Why is he still lashing out like this?”

“There’s too much Dark in him. He _can’t_ stay calm. I’ve tried everything I know, Leia. It’s just not working.”

“Then what are we going to do with him?” Leia screams at him.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know! Luke—”

Luke leans his face into his hands.

Leia silences instantly. She’s seen her brother laugh, smile, mourn, frown in concentration, crow with victory, shout with alarm. She has never—ever— _ever—_ seen him bow his head in defeat.

She loves her son. But she is also a general. And she has not spent her entire adult life working for peace in the galaxy for nothing. If she could give up her home planet to protect the rebel base, then she can do this, too.

“Luke.” Her voice is low, but steady. “You’re going to have to be the one to do it. He’s too powerful now for anyone else to be able to.”

Luke stares at the table, silent.

Leia waits.

At last Luke looks up, meets her eyes.

He does not ask, _do what?_

 

* * *

  

Before leaving to be trained, Ben installed a set of tiny surveillance droids throughout their house. He’s reinstalled them in each new house or base they’ve moved to since then, precisely for times like these. He knows Luke has gone to talk to Leia about him, yet again. He’s felt his worry for years now, intensifying with each new incident.

Ben watches the grainy figures on his holopad, listens to them shout. He’s heard this argument before. He’s too angry, he’ll never be a Jedi, we never should have taught him, we should have taught him earlier, he’ll be the next Vader, even Vader had good in him, it goes on, and then it—

Do what?

_NO._

 

* * *

 

_They want to kill me._

_They think I will never be a Jedi._

_They do not think I can be saved. That I am worth saving. They did their part. Now they’re done with me._

_That’s ok._

_I am done with them._

_If I cannot be a Jedi, I will be a Sith, instead. I will find myself a teacher. Or not._

_Either way, they will never be able to stop me. Not now. Not ever. I will find them, and I will kill them. Every last one of them. For what they were going to do to me. And I will kill the Jedi, too. If I cannot be a Jedi, then no one else should, either. It’s how my grandfather became a Sith. I will follow his example. And then I will rule the galaxy. And then I will never have to fear them again. Ever again._

_I do not need calm. I do not need peace._

_I only need power._

 

* * *

  

Luke meditates throughout the night. It’s wrong, it’s right, he doesn’t know what to do, he knows what he has to do, he doesn’t know if he can do it, he knows he can do it, he doesn’t know what the cost will be if he does, or if he doesn’t, it goes against everything he believes in, it will protect everything he believes in.

He slips deeper and deeper into the waves of the Force, stretching out across time. Blue-green planet vaporized in an instant. Brown robes slipping to the floor, empty. His friends’ screams, echoing out through the Force. His own hand, falling into oblivion.

His hands on a dark mask, scarred face looking up.

There will always be Light in Ben. He knows it. He just has to find it. Somehow. Somewhere. There must be another way to save him. He will meditate on it, venture deep into the Force to ask his long-gone mentors yet again what can possibly be done to keep Ben safe within the Light. But first, he will go back to Leia, and tell her that he will not do it.

Luke rises, stiff, and starts the long trek back to the base from his clearing deep in the moonlit woods.

 

* * *

  

Leia paces the silent hallways of the house throughout the night. Her son. Her husband. Her brother. Her fathers. Herself. The Senate. The Galaxy. Peace. Destruction. Dreams. Nightmares.

One father blasted into stardust. The other vaporized into the Force. A husband so overwhelmed by fear for their son, for her, for them all, that he flees to the ends of the galaxy to escape. She cannot flee. She must lead. And leading forces to battle means knowing not all of them will return.

A long time ago, on a planet far, far, away, a tiny, dark-haired boy hummed to himself as he stroked the fur of a small green pittin. Crowed with delight as he _leaped_ from tree to tree. Cracked up with laughter as he braided her hair into the shape of a very wobbly lightsaber atop her head.

Grabbed the pittin by its throat when it scratched his hand. Broke off a branch of the tree and _sent_ it flying at the other children’s heads when they lost interest in watching him. Smashed the mirror in half when the braid fell apart in his hands.

He is only a boy. He is halfway to a monster. He is hers. He is beyond her control.

Leia climbs up to the flat roof, sinks down onto the cold duracrete, and leans back against the low perimeter wall. The second moon has already risen, small and blue beneath the first moon’s golden orb. Something small and dark and winged flits across its glowing surface. The roof is bathed in dim blue-gold, light and shadow and metal and air.

Her father saved Luke’s life. _Saved Luke’s life._ Whatever else he did before then, doesn’t that count for something? Isn’t that proof that Ben, too, will find his own Light someday?

They cannot do it. There must be another way. She will never stop trying.

With a groan, Leia rises, climbs down from the roof, and heads out towards the woods to tell her brother what she has decided.

 

* * *

  

Halfway to the base, Luke falls to his knees, floored by a wave of pain and anguish.

Halfway to the forest, Leia puts a hand to her heart.

Too late.

  

* * *

  

Ben opens his eyes to find all of the Jedi dead at his feet.

  

* * *

  

“There are tiny holocams. In every corner of the house.” Leia’s had a dazed look in her eyes for a week now. Fumbling blindly through the house. Lost in space without coordinates.

Luke turns to her. “What?”

“Holocams. Hooked up to send a feed to an external datapad. Heavily encrypted.”

“You think we’ve been spied on—”

“I asked my comms director to take a look at the encryption.”

Luke waits.

“Ben’s datapad,” she says.

One trembling hand rises to cover Luke’s mouth.

Leia doesn’t even seem to react. She’s already stunned, bereft, adrift—what more can she possibly feel?

“Leia.”

“We weren’t going to,” she says, dazed. “We wouldn’t have. Never. We would have found another way.”

“I _know_ , Leia. I know.” Luke’s voice scrapes against his throat.

“But now it’s too late. It’s _too late_ , Luke, it’s—” She stares at her brother with burning eyes, no tears left. _I murdered them_ , she mouths, unable to put voice to the words.

“If you did, then so did I.” There is no chair beneath him. Luke finds himself sitting on the floor, instead, robes tumbling around him.

“I murdered _Ben.”_ Her voice cracks, raw. “I murdered _BEN!”_

“Leia,” he says again.

“Luke,” she answers, staring above his head. “Luke. What do we do now? _What can we possibly do?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and concrits are love! Seriously, don't be shy. Let me know how I can be a better writer! 
> 
> And come say hi on [tumblr!](http://www.beautifullights1.tumblr.com) [Here's](http://beautifullights1.tumblr.com/post/145409229512/fic-update-fly-home-to-me-relationships-poe) the fic post if you'd like to reblog it.


	2. i am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Resistance base, two years after the Battle of Starkiller, six months after Poe’s return from the Obsession.]
> 
> TW: Oblique references to past rape.

“Sometimes I wish Master Luke were my father,” Rey whispers in to Jess’ neck, late at night. She knows Jess isn’t asleep yet, because her breathing hasn’t quite settled and her awareness still flickers quietly beside Rey’s. It’s far too late at night for a conversation like this, but this feels like a secret too intense to let loose on the daylit world.

“…mmm?” Jess murmurs, sleepy. “Oh.” Her eyes blink open, suddenly alert. “Rey—” Jess’ face softens. “I know, sweetheart. He’s a good man.”

“Yeah.” Rey’s silent for a moment. “I just—”

Jess puts a hand under her chin, draws it up so that Rey’s eyes meet hers. “What, firecat?”

“doyouthinkhe’dadoptme?” Rey whispers before she can lose her nerve.

Jess’ face lights up in a broad grin. “Why not? Worth asking, no? He cares about you a lot, Rey. You should see the way he boasts about you when you’re not there—” She chucks Rey under the chin, teasing, then leans in for a quick peck. “Leia, too. They all love you.”

“I know.” Rey curls her fingers around Jess’, brings them to her lips. “It’s just—”

Jess waits.

“—not the same,” Rey finishes, nearly inaudible. “As having a real family. You know?”

“I know.” Jess leans her forehead against Rey’s, cups her cheek in one hand. “I know. I’m so sorry, Rey.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Rey insists, for the millionth time. “It’s ok.”

It’s not. It’s very, very, clearly not. But Jess learned long ago not to argue this point with her.

“Why don’t you ask him?” she says instead. “Maybe he knows a way to find your family. Through the Force, or something? I don’t know. Or maybe he’d be willing to adopt you someday. It’s worth a try. Just don’t—I mean—”

“Get my hopes up and my heart broken,” Rey supplies. She’s smiling, but it’s the smile she uses when joking about the possibility of swift death in a sandstorm on Jakku.

“Yeah,” Jess sighs. “That.”

“I’ll try not to. Any rate, you keep telling me that fathers are overrated, no? I can always make do with just you, instead.” Rey kisses her, slow, soft, searching. It’ll never get old, having another person with her. Caring for her. Watching out for her. Loving her. When she breaks off at last, Jess’ almond eyes are hooded with love, desire, and sleep in equal measure. Rey laughs. Jess swats at her half-heartedly and rolls over.

“ _Just_ me, huh? I see how it is. Go to sleep, firecat.”

“Mmm.” Rey curls around her friend, lays her head down on the pillow beneath them, and sleeps.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Master Luke.”

He opens his eyes, patient. Warm sunlight filters through the leaves above their heads, dappling his black-and-silver hair with shades of green. Rey opens her mouth to ask him the question she’s interrupting their meditation for.

“I am,” he answers, before she can even ask anything. His eyes widen, fix on hers. He swallows. “I’m your father.”

The sizzle of a lightsaber is loud in the small clearing, humming hot and blue beneath Luke’s chin. Rey struggles to find words. Nineteen years of pain and starvation and loneliness and fear and _wanting_ , oh Force, the _wanting—_ her lips curl back in a savage snarl.

“ _YOU! YOU ABANDONED ME!_ I _waited_ , years and years and years, in that desert, on my own, scavenging for rations, alone and scared and wishing I had someone, _anyone,_ who cared about me. Who could help me when I was hurt. Who could comfort me when I was sad. Who even knew I _existed_. I was alone—always alone—and I waited. And waited. You never came back. You—” Her throat closes.

“Are you done?” Luke asks, quiet.

“ _NO_. _YOU LEFT ME_. I don’t think I’ll ever be done.”

He nods, careful of the still-burning lightsaber. “Yes. I understand. Could you put that away? So we can talk.”

Her eyes—

She’s Vader’s grandchild, too. He might die, here. He would probably deserve it, if so. Not that he wants to, not before he’s righted some of his wrongs. But he would probably deserve it, for all he’s done.

Rey stares him down. Luke stares back. Not defiant. Just—just sad. Tired. Grieving. Despite the beard and the robes, he’s always seemed to her as ageless as Leia. Now he looks as old as he does when he mentions Kylo Ren.

It’s a long moment before the lightsaber hisses out.

Rey sits back. “Talk,” she snaps.

Luke closes his eyes for a moment to center himself. When he opens them again, she’s still watching, burning, crackling.

“When I started to rebuild the Jedi Order, I went deep into the Force to talk with Obi-Wan and Yoda about what to include of the old codes. We decided that because the rules against emotional attachments had backfired so dramatically in Anakin’s case, it might be better to allow Jedi to love, marry, and have children as they desired. However, when Ben was born, I could see that the Dark side was very strong in him. I decided not to have any children of my own out of fear that they, too, would be too easily tempted to turn to the Dark Side.” Luke draws a deep breath. “When I first began to teach Ben, however, he made quick progress. He started to learn how to calm down, center himself, control his rages. I relaxed, for a moment, thinking that perhaps I would be able to teach him—and, I hoped, any child of mine—enough of the Light to save them from falling to the Dark side. I—I had been—involved, for some time, with a woman I loved. Mara Jade, her name was.”

Luke stops short, eyes unfocused. When his gaze snaps back to Rey’s at last, it’s softer, searching the topography of her face for the familiar contours of a bombed-out homeland. With a shock, Rey recognizes this look from the first time they met on Ahch-To.

Finally Luke clears his throat and continues. “We had you, and—for a while—everything was fine. I taught you some of the most basic Jedi techniques—that’s how you could pick them up again so quickly, on Starkiller. But then your mother died in a skirmish with the early stirrings of the First Order. And then Ben destroyed the Academy.”

Luke’s voice does not even waver. _Is that calm?_ Rey wonders. _Or detachment?_

“I was afraid. For your safety, as he seemed bent on killing all of us. And for your own path, as well. I thought that maybe, if you were raised far from any Force-users—maybe then you would be free to live your own life, without ever even being tempted by the Dark Side. I thought maybe that’s what had saved me—being able to grow to adulthood before being thrown into it. I knew you couldn't be free of it forever—the Force has a way of making itself known, after all—but I hoped that by then you would be stronger. Wiser. Better able to resist. Clearly, teaching Ben had not been enough to keep him in the Light. I was so afraid it would be the same for you.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance,” Rey growls.

“I know,” Luke swallows. “I _know_ , Rey.” He lifts his eyes to her. She stares him down. He continues.

“I used the Art of the Small—it’s a Force power, I’ll teach you one of these days—to hide your presence in the Force. I hoped that would mean Snoke would not be able to find you, and it did, but it also meant that neither Leia nor I could find you. I gave you to an old friend, a pilot—”

“Dosmit Ræh,” Rey supplies.

Luke blinks. “Yes.”

“I had her helmet. I always wondered where it came from.”

Luke nods, eyes brimming. “She was going to take you to Mara Jade’s family, out on Ossus in the Outer Rim. But her craft was intercepted by a gang of pirates, and she was killed. That’s the last I ever heard about you.” Luke stares at the ground. “I had no idea where you were. No way to get in contact with you. No way to even find you in the Force. I assume they took the cargo to Jakku and sold you to Plutt—you said he was in charge of Niima, by that point? I—”

Luke puts his head in his hands. “If there had been any safe way to find you, Rey—any way at all—I’d have come to get you. You know that, right? There were so many targets on my back. I was afraid that going to look for you would have made you a target as well. I thought I could keep you safe, far away from everything.”

“Safe?” Rey glares at him, incredulous. “You knew that the ship I was on had been taken by pirates and that the woman who was supposed to take care of me was dead. How could I _possibly_ have been safe?”

“Because by coming to you, I would have brought the danger to you. After Ben destroyed the Academy, and before I found Ahch-To, I fought for my life nearly every single day. You would not have been safe with me, Rey. Snoke would have found you, and drawn you in the way he did Ben, after Ben fell to the Dark side.”

“So instead you left me to starve on my own in the desert.”

“Yes.” There are tears on Luke’s face now.

Rey doesn’t give a fuck. “If you wanted me safe, you should have kept me _close!_ Where you could _protect_ me!” Her voice cracks.

“I know that. I _know that_ , Rey.” Luke presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But I didn’t know what else to do. I thought maybe keeping you out of everything could work, the way it did for me and Leia.”

Rey pulls savagely at the grass by her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she growls. “When we first met, on Ahch-to. _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ”

Luke stares at the ground for a long time, silent. At last he lifts his eyes to hers. “Because I was afraid,” he says, hoarse. They can both hear that the use of past tense is, in this case, distinctly inaccurate. “Afraid that you would hate me for it. Afraid that the shame of your bloodline would turn you Dark. Afraid—afraid—that I didn’t know how to be a father to you. I still don’t. Rey—” Luke presses his knuckles to his mouth. “I’m so sorry. I—” He dashes a hand across his eyes. “I’ve made so many mistakes,” he continues, hoarse. “Too many. But there are two I will never be able to forgive myself for: abandoning you. And giving up on Ben.”

When Luke meets her eyes, Rey sees a man who held the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders for his entire adult life. Who fell to his knees, unable to bear it any longer. Who knows that she must now shoulder that burden until she, too, falls.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for it.” Luke swallows, hard. “But—but if you’re willing to give me a second chance—I would like to try again. To be your father. A good father. The one you deserve.”

“Are you done talking?” Rey asks at last.

Luke lowers his head. “Yes.”

“Good.” Rey nods. She rises to her feet in one smooth gesture and leaves the clearing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She does not return to the base. She crashes her way through the thick underbrush, snarling at each sapling and briar-bush that dares to slow her rampage. _Afraid. Alone. Wanting. Needing._

He could have come. All those years alone, and he never even sent a transmission. Never sent someone in his place. Never came to check to see if she was safe. Alive. He was not her father. He was _not her father_ , and in the span of a morning she’d lost her father, her adoptive father, her teacher, and her dream family, all in one. Now she was alone again, but with no hope this time. No one would come back for her now. No one was ever going to. She had no one to teach her—there was no way she could ever go back to him. No. Way. He _abandoned_ her. Left her to starve, to scavenge, to get hurt—to be—

Rey scrapes her palms against the prickling bark of a tree and screams.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At last she can’t walk any further. She sinks to the cool earth, presses her palms to the damp soil, thinks of days when she would have been desperate enough to lick dirt as moist as this just to catch a droplet of water. _How could you_ , she thinks. The thought hurts like a coal in her throat. _How could you. You abandoned me. With nothing. With no one. You could have come back. You could have sent someone else to look after me. You could have made sure I was in a safe place, not just left to fend for myself in a savage junkyard of a planet!_

She opens her palms on her knees, breathes deeply, tries to find her center. She has no center. She cannot find it. She is raw inside, raw and wanting and scratching and bleeding.

 _Jess_ , she thinks at last. _Please. I need you. I’m in the forest. Come to me?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Leia paused mid-sentence during a meeting and put her hand to her heart for a moment, Jess was unsettled. When neither Rey nor Luke came back for the midday meal, she started to get worried. It was common for them to occasionally get caught up in their training and come in for meals at odd times. But she knew what Rey was planning to ask, and she knew that if Rey planned to ask something she wouldn’t back out of asking it, and she knew that Rey would want to come share the answer with her as soon as possible. The fact that she hadn’t even returned to the base—not good.

They both knew that Luke agreeing to adopt her was not a guarantee, so Rey wouldn’t have been completely broken up over it. Sad, yes. But not disconsolate. And Jess was pretty sure that the Force didn’t allow one to just _find_ someone’s parents, not when they could be anywhere in the vast galaxy. So there wouldn’t have been any shocking answers on that front. The only other option, therefore, was that Luke did in fact know who her father was. In which case Rey would have wanted to tell Jess…unless the answer was too awful for words. So the fact that Rey did not return—not good. Really, really, not good.

There were, of course, plenty of horrible villains in the galaxy Rey would have been ashamed to call _father_. But Luke’s talents did not really lend themselves to patting someone on the back and saying there, there, so Luke would probably have sent her to Leia or Jess to be comforted. But he hadn’t, so maybe he didn’t want them to know the answer. Or maybe Rey had run out before he could send her to anyone. Either option would indicate that the answer was really, truly, awful.

Add that to the fact that Rey simply did not _do_ things like run off into forests on wild rampages—well. Not good. _Frighteningly_ not good.

Not that Jess was frightened, of course.

Well.

Not frightened of a squadron of TIEs screaming towards her in deep space. Not frightened of getting eaten by a slavering beast deep in this forest. Not frightened of a sudden First Order attack—she’s got her blaster and X-wing, after all.

Frightened of losing Rey? Very. Frightened of how the Force seems to make everything so much worse? Very. Frightened of how to deal with the pain Rey feels over the lack of a family? Very, very, very.

Jess knows that Rey liked Luke, enough to want him to be her father. Jess also knows that Luke was a nice man, if a little wobbly around the edges sometimes. If he _could_ adopt Rey, he likely would have.

Jess also knows about Force-instincts. She’s heard _I am your father_ and _He’s my brother_ , with the accompanying voice effects and subsequent screams/kisses, on a hundred dark nights around a shared flask of Correllian brandy. She knows that while Force-instincts are rarely clear, they do not lie.

Which is not good. Horribly, awfully, worryingly, not good.

When Jess reaches their habitual training clearing, it is empty. A trench of broken greenery points out towards the deepest part of the woods. Jess clenches her hand tighter over her blaster, takes a deep breath, and plows into the tangled forest in Rey’s wake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luke stares into his glass of Correllian brandy, still untouched. He doesn’t look up when Leia approaches, feet crunching on scattered leaves and Force-signature throbbing with anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, voice tight.

“I thought you knew.” Luke drops his head into his arms on the small bench-table.

“ _Knew?”_ Leia throws up her hands. “Even Vader didn’t know who I was until he saw it in your thoughts! And he spent plenty of time in—very close quarters with me. How could I _possibly_ have known? I knew I liked her. Liked her a lot. There was clearly something very special about her. Something that called to me. But that could have been for any number of reasons. I didn’t even know your daughter was still alive. I heard about the pirates and assumed the worst. You weren’t there to tell me otherwise!”

“That explains why you never yelled at me about her,” Luke’s words are muffled in his arm.

“Well, then let me make up for lost time now!” Leia’s voice shakes. “You made a liar out of me! We could have given her a home. I could have had a—”

“A what?” he shouts back at her, straightening in his seat. “Finish the sentence! You could have had a niece to replace the son who’s ruining the galaxy.”

_“Don’t you—”_

“Look.” Luke straightens his robe with trembling fingers. “I thought she would be safest far away from me. If I’d never found those droids, all those years ago on Tatooine, I never would have—”

“And then what?” Leia bites. “Then Vader would have destroyed the galaxy and I’d be dead.”

“ _The galaxy is in ruins!”_ Luke roars. He puts his head in his hands. “Leia.” His breath is ragged. “Everything we built. It’s gone now. Because I couldn’t teach him. Because I didn’t know how to fix him. I was so afraid that would happen to her, too.”  

“It’s gone because you gave up, Luke. Because you ran away. I almost lost Dameron trying to bring you back to us. You can’t give up again. You are the only—”

“ _Don’t tell me I’m the only Jedi left!_ You think I don’t know that? _Kriff_ , Leia. I’ve _lived_ with that hanging over my head for half my life. For fifteen beautiful years I had students, at least, students who might have been able to join me someday. And then they were gone. All of them. _Gone._ ”

“And then you gave _up_ , Luke.”

“I stopped teaching because I needed to figure out how to stop the next Vader from rising. Before I taught anyone else how to kill us.”

“And did you figure it out?”

“If I had, I would’ve returned to you.” Luke’s shoulders slump in defeat. “I don’t know. _I still don’t know_ how to stop a Jedi from falling, Leia, and now my own daughter is—” He drags in a breath. “When I told her.” Sifts a hand through his hair. “She—” Closes his eyes, opens them again. “She drew her lightsaber on me, and yelled, and her eyes—her _eyes_. They looked like Ben’s, Leia. I don’t even know how to save my own daughter. Why the fuck do you think I sent her away?” His voice cracks.

“Well, now she’s back.” Leia stares out in the woods, shoulders rigid. “So now you have to figure out how to keep her with us. Because I am not going to lose—” She looks at Luke. He looks back at her. “I can’t—”

She opens her mouth to speak. Stares at him. He stands. Reaches for her. She falls into his arms. They huddle there, together, on the edge of the base.

“What if I can’t save her?” Luke whispers at last, voice raw. “What if she turns?”

“Then you spend the next sixteen years mourning everyone else you love.”

“Leia—”

“It’s _true_ , Luke.” Leia draws back. “Those are your choices. If you were paying attention, you’d have noticed that ‘run away’ was not one of them.”

“I didn’t—”

“No, you were searching for the ‘secret to creating a balance within the Force.’ Did you find it?”

“No, Leia,” Luke’s voice is rough. “No. I didn’t. Which means I still don’t know how to save my daughter.”

Silence.

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I raced speeders through canyons,” Luke whispers.

Leia lowers her head to his shoulder. He holds on tight, staring up into the dark sky.

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I hid under the table at my parents’ banquets,” Leia whispers back at last. “Wearing awful satyn dresses covered in ruffles.”

Luke snorts.

“I missed you,” Leia breathes, nearly inaudible. “I missed you _so fucking much_ , Luke, you have no idea.” She pulls in a ragged breath.

Luke pulls her in tighter and rests his head in her hair. “I’m sorry.” His throat aches. “I’m so sorry, Leia.” For all of it. For everything.

A pair of patrol droids chitter to each other about the lack of hostile activity on base, then resume their rounds. A returning X-wing passes overhead, blurring the stars in its wake with ripples of heat. The Force-signatures of a thousand fighters shift, breathe, sigh, snuffle in their sleep. One of those is his daughter. One of those, across the galaxy, is the nephew he failed to reach before it was too late. The one whose life he ruined with a moment of doubt.

Luke draws back, takes his sister by the shoulders, straightens his back, and looks her in the eye. And there he is again—the Jedi Master she knew, centered in his own powerful Force.  “We’re going to fix this, Leia,” he swears. “All of it. We’re going to find a way to save Rey. Save the galaxy. Save Ben, even. If we can.”

“ _How_ , Luke?” she asks.

Luke looks at her for a long moment, thinking. “I don’t know yet,” he says at last. “But—Leia. I promise you. I will find a way to save them.”

“If you don’t, Luke—”

“I’ve been told ‘run away’ is not one of my options.”

“Good. Glad we’re clear.” Leia pauses for a moment, then adds, “But first, you have to go talk to your daughter.”

“ _Kriff_.” Luke blanches.

Leia whacks his arm. “Can’t be harder than fighting a rancor.”

Luke levels a mock-glare at her. “You have tried to argue with Rey before, haven’t you?”

“May the Force be with you.” Leia smirks.

“Kriff,” Luke mutters. He rubs his forehead, pulls in a deep breath. “Ok. Well. If I don’t come back.”

“Isn’t it fun to be a parent, Luke?” Leia pats him on the back with false sympathy. “You’ll get the hang of it one of these years.”

Luke sighs. “What is this like for people who aren’t Skywalkers?”

“Nearly as impossible. According to my fighters, at least.”

Luke shakes his head. With a gusty sigh, he starts back down the walkway towards the base. “Come on, Leia. Get some sleep. You’ve got an insurrection to run.”

“What else is new?” Leia grouses, but she follows him back to the base. Halfway down the path, she stops. “Luke.”

He looks at her.

“Do you think—”

“Yes,” he says, with absolute certainty. “We can.”

Leia nods, nods again. “Ok.” She pulls in a deep breath. “Ok. What—what do you think he looks like now?”

“I think when you see him, he’ll look the same as he did when he was small enough to fit in your arms,” Luke says, suddenly hoarse. “When I saw Rey on Ahch-To. That’s what I saw.”

Leia’s eyes are stinging. She brushes at them impatiently. She doesn’t have time for that. She can’t. Not now. Not later. “Well,” she says instead. “And then we’ll have all four of us around a table.” She shakes her head. “Just like old times, no?”

Luke’s smile trembles, then settles. “Yes, Leia.” He swings an arm around her shoulders as they walk back to the base, weary and grieving and trying to hope.


	3. let your hair down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But I've seen your long hair come down  
> It turned my head inside out  
> And I want you  
> I still do  
>  _—Quesadilla (Walk the Moon)_

When Jess finally catches sight of Rey’s bowed head and thorn-scratched legs, she stops short. “Rey?”

No answer.

“Rey?” Jess tries again, edging closer.

Rey finally looks up. Her face is streaked blotchy red and white with tears. Her eyes—

Jess crouches before her. “Rey. Please. Tell me what’s going on?” She opens her arms, offers a hug.

Rey stares at her and shakes her head. Jess settles back onto the forest floor before her. Rey plucks at the hem of her vest with trembling hands. Jess clasps her arms around her chest and waits.

“He abandoned me,” Rey whispers at last.

Oh,  _shit_. Oh holy fucking rancorspawned bantha _shit!_ So it is true? “Luke?” Jess asks, just to confirm.

Rey’s head bobs in a slight nod, almost imperceptible. Her eyes are fixed on the ground before her.

Jess’ gut goes cold. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, at a total loss for any other coherent words. What should she do now? What should she say? What, exactly, is the appropriate response to finding out that one’s loved one was abandoned at the tender age of four by her father, also known as the legendary Master Jedi, Hero of the Galaxy? Curse and shoot things? Get smashed? At least, that’s what Jess would probably do. Cry? Talk about it reasonably?

No. Definitely not.

“I’m so sorry,” Jess says at last. They’re just a few stupid little words, but they’re all she can offer now, and she means them with everything she’s fucking got, ok? So they’ll have to do right now. “I’m _so sorry,_ firecat,” she says again.

“I always thought that once they came back, everything would be ok again.” Rey says at last, voice low and unsteady. “That once I found them, I would be _safe_.” Her voice cracks painfully. “Loved. Home. But he—he _could have_ come back for me, Jess. He could have sent someone else for me. He could have made sure someone was there taking care of me. He could have checked in on me to make sure I was ok. He could have _never left me there in the first place!”_ She lunges forward, batters her fists on Jess’ shoulders. “He—Jess—I—” Rey shoves to her feet, throws herself against a tree, punches the living daylights out of it. The bark quivers and rattles, leaves cascade down around her shoulders, but the solid trunk holds.

“ _I hate him,”_ Rey whispers. Jess scrambles to her feet, braced and ready. She’s not sure what Rey needs, but if a fight is what she’s looking for, a fight is something she can give.

Rey isn’t looking for a fight. She turns back to Jess with terrified, haunted eyes. “Jess,” she whispers. “I want to kill him. Everything hurts now. I can’t—” She claws at her arms, frantic, cracking out of her skin. “I can’t look at him. I have to go back, I have to train with him, I have to be his padawan and kill Snoke and Kylo with him, but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t know what to do, Jess, I—I—”

“He must have had a good reason,” Jess spreads her hands, placating. There’s a crazed look in Rey’s eyes now, a look Jess has never seen before. She is so woefully, _woefully_ unprepared for this. _Force. Please. Help. Now. Thanks. ‘K bye._ “I mean—it’s _Luke._ Luke Skywalker, for the Force’s sake. He’s a hero. More than a hero, he’s—he’s a good guy. He wouldn’t have just left you out there if he had a choice about it.”

“He was _afraid_ ,” Rey spits the word. It is _not_ one she’d ever like to hear applied to herself, thanks very much.

“He did have half the galaxy on his tail, trying to find him and kill him—”

 _“SO?”_ Rey shouts. “He still does! But he’s a Jedi! He can fight them off! He managed to come back now, why couldn’t he have done so years ago? Why didn’t he even _claim me_ , Jess? When I came to fetch him from Ahch-To, he didn’t say anything about it. Does he—does he not—” She can’t say it.

Jess can. She strides closer to Rey, hands cocked on her hips. “Of _course_ he loves you, Rey. I told you last night—he looks at you like you’re the most amazing person in the world. He—he’s had a hard life, Rey. Maybe he didn’t want to drag you further into it.”

“ _He’s_ had a hard life? He grew up in a loving family, found two mentors and a sister—”

“ _And_ almost got killed by his own father, Rey. You’ve heard Leia. She wouldn’t wish the Skywalker legacy onto anyone.”

“I don’t care about a fucking legacy!” Rey pulls savagely at her hair, needing the pain to be in her body, not her mind. “I just wanted—I just want—” She crumples in on herself in slow motion, sinking to the ground. Jess slides into a crouch beside her. She opens her arms again. This time Rey slumps into them gladly, burying her head in the crook of Jess’ neck.

“Sweetheart,” Jess murmurs into her hair, blinking her eyes against her own tears. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

Rey beats her fists against Jess’ back. “I hate him,” she says again, hoarse. “I hate him. Jess. I can’t do this. I can’t—I—” She picks her head up and looks at Jess. Her eyes are clear, sharp, unyielding. “ _I want to kill him._ I can’t escape the anger. I don’t know what to do.”

“Firecat.” Jess holds her even tighter, breath coming fast and sharp in her throat. “Oh, firecat,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.” Force, help me, she prays. I am not letting this girl fall to the Dark side. If I’m the only real family she’s got—then I will have to be enough. Please, please, PLEASE. Help me be enough.

 

* * *

As the concept of using water to clean is still close to incomprehensible to Rey, she never takes more than five minutes in the shower—if that. Even sleeping out in the forest together all night can’t have made her that dirty. So when after fifteen minutes she hasn’t emerged, Jess knocks on the door. “Rey?”

Silence.

“I’m—almost done. Sorry. I’ll be right out.”

“Ok.”

Ten minutes later, Jess knocks on the bathroom door. “Rey. What’s going on? Are you ok?”

Silence.

The door opens. The ends of Rey’s wet hair are soaking straight lines down her vest. She stares at Jess, eyes blank.

“I’ve put my hair into three buns every single day of my life.” Her voice is flat. “Because that’s how it was when my family left me. So I thought—if it looks like that, maybe—maybe they’d recognize me more easily.”

“Oh, firecat—”

“I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Jess agrees, voice soft. “You don’t.”

“What do I do?” Rey blinks, blinks again.

“You could keep doing it,” Jess offers. “If you like your hair that way. Or you could find a different way to put your hair up. Or you could chop it all off.”

Rey’s lips press up at the edges, but her eyes stay blank.

“It’s your choice, Rey. Whatever you want to do.”

Rey’s hands are trembling, very very slightly, at her sides.

“Rey.” Jess frames her girlfriend’s face between her hands. “You can do this.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Rey stares over Jess’ shoulder, lost. “My entire life, I’ve been waiting for them to come back. Fighting to survive so I can see them again. Looking around at every person I ever meet, wondering—are they? Are they? Could they possibly be mine?” Her voice rises, frantic. “What do I do now, Jess? What do I fight for? Who do I _wait_ for?”

“You’ll figure that out,” Jess replies, fierce. “You _will,_ Rey. Peace in the galaxy. Us. Yourself. Who- or whatever you want. You can decide for yourself now.” She pauses. “Or you could even ask your aunt?”

“I have an aunt.” Rey stares at Jess, patently astonished. “I have an aunt.” She shakes her head for a moment, still unable to wrap her head around the idea.

Jess laughs. “You do. She’s good at hair, you know. And, of course,” she inclines her head regally, “so am I.”

Rey looks at her for a long moment, gathering herself back together. Finally she nods. “Will you do my hair? Something—” she bites her lip. “Something different.”

“Of course, firecat.” Jess waves her hand at the chair at the desk. “For you, my first customer, I make you special special deal, ok?”

Rey laughs, despite herself. “Just don’t dye it any colors, ok?”

“No dyes,” Jess promises. “No scissors. Just a hairtie, and maybe—” She frowns towards her closet. “Maybe I still have a ribbon left?”

“Am I going to regret this?”

“Definitely,” Jess assures her. “If not, I’m not doing my job right.” She flicks Rey’s hair into one bundle behind her back and starts drawing a comb through the ends, sure and gentle. “You can go to Leia, and complain. Ask for pointers.”

“Leia.” Rey stares out the window above the desk, still disbelieving. “I have an aunt,” she repeats. Suddenly she jerks in the chair, startling Jess into dropping the comb. “Shit!” Rey twists around towards Jess. “This means I have a cousin, too! Oh, _shit._ Shit!"

Jess laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until she’s bent in two. “Don’t ever change, Rey, ok?” she gasps. “The hair, yes, fine. But the rest of you? Please don’t ever change.”

“Shut up,” Rey whacks her arm, lips twitching against a grin. “He’s my _cousin!_ Can you believe it? And _fuck,_ my _grandfather_. Oh, _fuck._ ” She shakes her head, finally surrendering to Jess’ laughter. “Of all the families in the galaxy, I had to be born into _this one?_ What a fucked-up family to be a part of!”

Jess curls her hand around Rey’s still-dripping hair, quaking with barely-suppressed laughter. “Oh, firecat. You are going to have one interesting family dinner, that’s for sure.”

“You’re not implying that I’m going by myself, are you?”

Jess freezes, eyes wide. “Yes. Yes, I definitely am. _No kriffing way_ am I getting myself into that mess. No. Kriffing. Way.”

Rey folds her arms across her chest and stares Jess down. “Coward.”

“Sensible.”

“You're a _pilot_ , Jess,” Rey points out, very reasonable. “‘Sensible’ is not in your vocabulary.”

“I would rather leap into a dogfight against a full squadron of TIEs than sit down at the Skywalker family table.”

“Coward.”

“Watch it or I’ll dye your hair Twi’lek turquoise.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Watch me.”

Rey smirks at Jess. “If I have to go, you have to go.”

Jess raises her eyes to the ceiling and sighs. “If I have to eat with the Skywalkers, then I want to get eaten—”

Rey tackles her onto the floor. Jess beams up at her, insouciant. “Yeah? Can I take that as a yes? I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Never going to get my hair braided at this rate,” Rey makes quick work of Jess’ fly, grinning wickedly.

Jess shrugs against the floor. “Well, you could always see how you like wearing it down.”

“Down, huh?” Rey licks a hot stripe up Jess’ clit.

Jess jerks and swears. “Yes,” she pants. “Down. Definitely down.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Leia finds Rey out in the training grounds before breakfast, punching through unarmed katas in a sandpit with Jess throwing random weighted balls at her to deflect. She takes her time finishing the last set before finally stepping out of the pit and acknowledging Leia’s presence.

“I wanted to apologize to you, Rey,” Leia says, oddly formal. “Had I known you were Luke’s daughter, I would have told you immediately. I didn’t even know you were still alive. I thought you had died with Ræh in the pirate attack.”

She takes a breath, trying to gauge Rey’s reaction. Her niece’s impressive control, however, gives nothing away. “I—I would like to make up for lost time, now,” she continues. “If you’re willing. Would you—come to dinner with me? Just—” Leia’s lips twitch up, tentative. “As your aunt. I haven’t been an aunt in years.”

Rey looks at her for a long time, silent. Her eyes dart to Jess, then back to Leia, and suddenly crinkle with some hidden joke. “Can Jess come too?” is all she asks.

Jess fizzes silently by her side.

Leia’s eyes flick between the two. Rey desperately hopes that all the work she put into learning how to shield her emotions has paid off enough to block Leia from the lust crackling up and down her spine. Too bad Jess can’t shield herself…

“Of course,” Leia answers at last, bemused. “Tonight, 1900, my quarters?”

“That would be great.” Rey beams at her. “And now, I. Have to get back to my. Training? See you. Later. Tonight. Then. Ok? Great. Awesome. Ok.”

Jess drags her away, laughing hysterically. Leia stares after them, bemused. _Did dinner inspire such lustful thoughts in us, when we were their age?_ she asks Han. She thinks for a moment, then nods. _Yes. Yes, it definitely did. That dignitaries’ banquet on Manaan? Mmm. Now_ that _was a lovely evening._ Leia closes her eyes and tips her head into the dawning light.

 _Mmmmm_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rey’s waiting for him in the clearing, trying and failing to meditate. He stands before her, silent, holding white-knuckled to his center.

“Why didn’t you come back for me?” Rey asks at last, voice stretched thin. “Send someone to check on me? You could have. I know that you could have, no matter how many people were searching for you. You’re a _Jedi_. You could have done it. Gone after those pirates, found out where they’d taken me.”

“Rey.” Luke’s voice cracks. “I couldn’t save Ben. And then he killed them all, he tore up the galaxy, the things he did—” Luke stops.

“You thought I’d be like him.” Rey’s hands are very, _very_ cold.

Luke nods.

“You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“Rey—”

“You didn’t even give me a _chance!”_ Rey shoves to her feet. “Luke.” Her voice is painfully raw. “You were hoping I’d die.”

Luke reaches toward her in supplication. “ _No_ , Rey. No. Never. I hoped you’d live. Be safe. Be free of all of this.”

“But you thought if I died, the galaxy might have been safer.” Rey shoves past him toward the path leading back to the base.

“Wait, Rey—Rey!” Luke’s running after her. She quickens her pace. He grabs her arm. She whirls and shoves his grip back, bends his fingers far enough back to hurt. He could force her to let go, but he doesn’t.

“You know why I learned how to do that?” Rey bites. “Let me go.”

“Rey, don’t leave. We need to talk about this. Figure it out. I’m _sorry_ , Rey, I will be sorry for the rest of my life, don’t you know how sorry I am—”

“I do!” Rey shouts, hoarse. “I _fucking_ do.” She drags in a ragged breath. “But I can’t—I can’t—” She closes her eyes for a moment, hands shaking. “I can’t—be here right now.”

“Don’t run away from this, Rey. Please.”

Rey looks at him for a long moment. She’s cold, very cold. Floating somewhere in the air above herself. “Parents want to be role models for their children, don’t they?” she says at last, voice crackling into ice. “You ought to be proud of me.”

She watches herself walk down the path to the base. She can hear Luke’s heart crack open behind her. She can hear a brabary bird chirp sleepily in a tree overhead. She can hear the midday tone chime across the training yards.

 _Jess_ , she calls. _Can I talk to you for a moment?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jess’ shirt is still streaked with sweat from sparring with a set of new recruits. She presses a quick kiss to Rey’s lips, then steps back, eyes serious. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m leaving.” Rey stands stiffly erect, hands carefully not fisted by her sides. “Not forever. I _promise_ you. I’m coming back. I just—I need some time to think. About all of this. Somewhere far away. I can’t—I can’t think here. With him around. And Leia. I just—I can’t do it.”

Jess’ brows arc tightly downward. “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Rey watches Jess nibble on a fingernail. She can’t quite figure out how to make her voice return to a normal tone. “A week? A month? Not—not much longer than that. I think. I’ll comm you if I can. When it’s safe. And I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

Jess nods.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Rey whispers. “I’ll come back to you. You know I wouldn’t—”

“I know, sweetheart.” Jess steps closer, takes Rey’s arms. “I know. You’d never leave unless you had to.”

Rey nods.

“Just—just don’t do anything stupid, ok?” Jess rests her head on Rey’s shoulder. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too,” Rey whispers back. “I promise I’ll come back to you. I’ll bring you back a present, if you want one?”

Jess laughs. “Just—nothing that requires care and feeding, ok?”

Rey laughs into Jess’ hair. “Ok. Explosives?”

Jess considers that for a moment. “Maybe?”

“Food?”

“Sweet foods, maybe.”

“Shiny things?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“That’s it, then.” Rey grins at her.

“Oh, firecat.” Jess cups Rey’s cheek in one slim, callused hand. “I’m going to miss you.”

Rey nods. “I’m going to miss you too. I promise I’ll come back.” She hesitates, then leans in and kisses Jess once, long and heartfelt, before turning to leave.

“Just think—family dinners,” Jess calls after her as Rey walks down to the landing bay. “So many lovely family dinners!”

Rey lifts a hand and curls two fingers in a gesture considered obscene in at least four systems in the Outer Rim. Jess grins.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Rey, don’t do this.”

Rey hugs Finn harder, eyes dry. “I have to,” she says.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Finn croaks.

“Promise me _you_ won’t,” Rey retorts. “If I hear you’ve been kriffing lightsabered in the back again—”

“ _Fuck_ no.” Finn shudders. “Promise me _you_ won’t—you know.”

“Go Dark,” Rey supplies. “You can say it,” she snaps, suddenly fed up. “Not talking about it doesn’t make it go away. I’m not going to. Finn.” She pulls back, hands on his shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. “I could have, on Starkiller. I’ve told you that before.”

Finn nods.

“If I didn’t _then_ , when I thought you were dead and he’d killed you and he’d killed _Han_ and that planet was going to— If I didn’t then, I’m not going to now. I just need time and space to _think_. Without everyone being afraid and secretive and ashamed and grieving. On the _Falcon_ , where Chewie trusts me and _I_ trust me. Do you understand?”

Finn looks at her for a long moment, mouth pulling down at the edges. Finally he nods. “I think I understand, Rey. I trust you. I—I hope it helps. Whatever you find out there.”

The look of profound gratitude in Rey’s eyes floors him for a moment. Finn pulls her in again for a strong hug, then steps back. “I’ll miss you,” he says.

“I’ll miss you to.” Rey takes one step back, then another. “Take care of Jess, ok? Make sure she doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Finn grins. “Of course. I’ll get Poe on it too, when he lands tonight.”

“Thanks.” Rey grins back at him. Chewie roars from inside the _Falcon_. She shrugs at Finn. “Time to go, I think.”

“Don’t let that carpet walk all over you, ‘k?”

Another roar, louder. Finn flinches back. Rey whacks him on the shoulder. “Be glad he’s already strapped in, because otherwise you might have lost an important limb or two.”

Finn grins at her. “Incentive to return.”

Rey laughs. “Watch your back when we land!” She dashes up the gangplank and into the _Falcon._ “Chewie, let’s go!” she calls.

Chewie roars at her.

“I don’t know where we’re going. We’re not going anywhere, really. We’re just—going. Away.”

Chewie grunts back.

Rey snorts. “Ok, fine. I guess you can’t really put that in a navicomp, can you. Hmm. Surprise me?”

A large, furry hand pats her back. Rey looks up at him and smiles.

“Think we can do the Kessel run in eleven parsecs?”

Triumphant roar.

Rey grins. “Punch it! Let’s go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

With Rey gone, everyone’s a little on edge. But there’s no time to stop and think, not now. Not for painful memories. Not for a family that cracked apart years ago. Not even for a broken heart. Not while the First Order still eats up planets, one by one, taking their children and burning their homes—and definitely not while the Freedom Campaign has been slowly gathering momentum, one defecting Stormtrooper at a time.

When Poe arrives after his latest mission, therefore, he and Finn have barely two hours’ reunion before Finn has to report to the landing bay. And then Finn’s in the air with his squadron, en route to their target on Tighrit, and Poe’s on his way to the control room for a belated debriefing, and the Resistance whirls around them, same as usual.

This is their life now, most days. Handing over the relay, flying out again. Walking straight past each other like a prisoner exchange. Blazing past each other in hyperspace, blipping in and out of each other’s scopes before they can even open a comm-line.

In hyperspace, however, there’s plenty of time to think. Finn closes his eyes and reviews the mission details, designs their house on Yavin IV, remembers their quick, heated, tumble during those brief two hours—

And then he’s jolted out of hyperspace so fast he doesn’t even have time to process what has happened. A star destroyer sits low and menacing below them, bulging with four vast domes.

_SHIT._

Finn’s stomach jolts with more than G-forces. It’s an Interdictor. Those gravity well projectors will render hyperspace travel impossible, trapping them here, in front of a rapidly approaching army of TIEs, not to mention an array of cannons.

Before Finn’s startled breath fully leaves his lungs, the tractor beam activates, trapping him and his entire squadron in place. The only panel still lit on his dash is the line of coordinates for the point where they were pulled out of hyperspace. They cannot shoot back. They cannot even comm home—the small transceivers on their X-wings are not powerful enough to reach all the way back to the Resistance base.

No one will know what happened to them. No chance to even say goodbye.

The TIEs dart around them like a pack of guard manka cats, but do not open fire. Which means that they are not here to be killed. Which means that they know who they are. Which means they are going to be executed.

Or worse—

“Free Leader to Freedom Squadron,” Finn rasps. “They—” He swallows hard. ”They may try to recondition us.”

 _Breathe_. Finn’s hands clench on the controls.

“If you would prefer to go out fighting, do so. I am not going to order you, either way. It is your own choice. But—but if you do choose to surrender, or if we are not given a chance to fight, try—”

 _Try to stay CALM, Captain!_ Finn starts again. “Try to hold out as long as you can when they—when they recondition you. To make it believable.” Finn takes a shuddering breath. “But then, if you can, surrender while you still remember yourself. The sooner you surrender, the less—the less damage there may be. It may be possible to recover from it. Remember that if the Resistance can try to rescue us, they will. Don’t—don’t give up hope yet.”

That’s an impossible thing to ask, now that the hangar’s maw is opening up over their locked X-wings. But it’s a squadron leader’s job to inspire courage in the squadron, and it’s the squadron’s job to pretend to believe their leader.

“You have free will,” Finn presses on, needing them to remember it. Needing _himself_ to remember it. “You have a General that cares about your lives. You have names. Try—” There’s no way to _try_ , he knows that, they all know that. He says it anyway. “Try to remember who you are. Tyrik. Onira. Umoka. Poru. Quelni. Ajib. Elraina.” Deep breath. “It has been an honor to fight with you.”

“And with you, Finn.” That’s Quelni, voice scared but steady. The others echo her.

The hangar looms over them. Finn’s controls are grey, unresponsive. His astro is locked into silence. He mutes his comm for the last time.

“Poe,” he says, into the silence of his cockpit. “I love you. Remember that, please. Remember that.”


	4. P-O-E-R-E-M-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: panic attack

Poe’s standing in the control room with the rest of the officers during their evening briefing when Major Nerro slams open the door. “General Organa!” she shouts. “Incoming transmission. From Hux.”

Leia’s eyes widen. “Set it up!” Major Nerro waves a hand at her comms-intel team, who rush in and initialize the projection. Within moments, a blue figure flickers to life behind a translucent podium decorated with First Order insignia.

“Resistance scum.” Hux’s crisp tones echo from the holocomm into the crowded Resistance control room.

A line of prisoners stand behind him. Resistance flightsuits. Manacles. Shock collars. It’s the—it’s—he’s—what— _NO._

_FUCK._

It’s the Freedom Squadron. Poe’s eyes snag on Finn and hold, frozen in place. _NO. This is not—no. NO._

“We have apprehended the traitors,” Hux announces, chin held high. “You have one standard day to surrender the rest of the malfunctioning Stormtroopers who defected to your cause,” Hux continues. “If you do not deliver them to a First Order base by 1100 galactic standard time tomorrow, we will execute these traitors on live intergalactic broadcast. Bear in mind that we have placed these captives in the tightest security. No ships are allowed to enter our hangar, nor are any other Stormtroopers allowed any contact with the prisoners. I, along with a vanguard of battle droids and—” his lips curl up in a condescending smirk— “a nest of ysalamir—just for decoration, of course—will personally supervise their stay here until their execution. Finally, our base is equipped with gravity well projectors, and guarded by three Interdictors, each with a full TIE fleet. Whole-fleet rescues will, of course, end in a massacre. The moment anything out of the ordinary happens, all of the traitors will be summarily shot.”

Hux smiles, cold and precise. “I trust I have made myself clear.”

The transmission cuts off.

Poe blinks. He can hear the distant voices of the other Resistance officers arguing with each other, but his mind is stuck on Finn’s face, staring fiercely into the holocam. The faces of his squadron flanking him, brave and terrified and stoic and despairing. Shoulders squared, chins upraised, shock collars around their necks, hands bound before them—

“Wait!” Poe shouts over the din and motions to Major Nerro. “Play it again. The transmission. Play it—” Nerro restarts it from the beginning. The officers turn back to the projection.

Poe points to Finn’s shimmering blue hands. “Watch.” Poe leans in—there it is again. “He’s tapping his fingers, there. Against his leg. It’s Mon Calamari blink code. He’s tapping something in blink!”

There’s a crowd around him, but he only has eyes for the transmission. “Someone writing this down?” he calls.

“Gotcha, Dameron.”

“That’s a one. Eight. Four. Three. Wait—go back, go back. Not a three. Five?” Poe calls out the numbers as they come, corroborating his guesses with the other pilots and comms techs in the situation room to get it right. Five tense minutes later, they have a full set of coordinates. Poe straightens up, crowing. “Watch out, you sadistic psychopathic fuckers! We’re going to get you. We’re going to get them back. We’re going to—” Finn’s still tapping. “Wait. Wait, he’s still—what’s he—Major Nerro? Go back again!”

Rewind. Holo-blue Finn taps out the last numbers for the coordinate set again, but keeps going. “P-O-E-R-E-M—” End of transmission.

Poe stares at the empty space above the holoprojector. Slowly he shakes his head. “No,” he growls. “ _No_. We’re going to get you all _out_ of there.” He turns to Leia. “General Organa. I request permission to mount a rescue mission.”

“No.”

“General.”

“Commander Dameron, you are a professional.  You cannot—”

“They came to rescue _me_.” Poe’s voice scrapes against his throat. “You weren’t even sure if I was still alive or on your side, but you let them come rescue me. I owe the same to Finn and his squadron. We all do. They are Resistance, same as us, General, you can’t—”

“I know that, Commander. Finn and the Freedom Squadron are some of the truest fighters we’ve got. The difference is that their base has gravity well projectors. That means that if anything goes wrong in the rescue mission—and something will, Dameron, you know that’s how rescues work—you will all be trapped there and summarily shot down by their cannons. We cannot risk sending the entire fleet to take them down, only to lose everyone.”

“So we send in a crack team with Rey and Luke,” Admiral Statura suggests. “Extract the prisoners, neutralize Hux.”

“No. He said that no ships are allowed entry. And even if they were somehow able to sneak inside, the ysalamirs will block their connection to the Force. Depending on how many he has—well. It’s safe to assume he procured as many as he needed to block the entire base from Force-users. We therefore cannot simply trot inside, have Luke and Rey wave their hands a few times, and trot right out. And lightsabers alone will not be enough to free the prisoners. Not against a full vanguard of battle droids. Not without full use of the Force.”

“We have to do something.” Poe clenches his teeth. “They’re doing this to intimidate the Stormtroopers. If we don’t even try to get them out, what does that make us, in their eyes? Just like the First Order—sending them into battle and then turning our backs. We have to show them we are _different_. That we know they are human beings who deserve a fair chance to live. The Stormtroopers are our best chance to win this war. You—”

Poe pauses, straightens his shoulders, and tips his head up into _Commander_ mode. “General Organa. Thirty years ago, you cut off the head of the acklay and declared victory. It didn’t work. Maybe the way to win this war is not through the leaders, but through the followers. We took down Starkiller with information from a common trooper. We’ll take down the next one with _all_ of the troopers. But in order to do so, we’ll have to prove to them that we fight not just with them, or against them, but _for_ them.”

When he finishes, the room is silent. He stares her down, heart in his stomach, power humming in his throat.

Leia smiles at him, wistful and proud. “Dameron. I’m not going to suggest that you go into politics, because I need you here fighting for me. But. Think about it. Someday when _you’re_ old and gray and _not_ in desperate need of a talking-to from some young thing.”

She sighs. “Look. You’re right, or at least partially so. The Stormtroopers _are_ a crucial part of our strategy, moving forward. However, losing the Freedom Squadron—painful as it is—does not mean losing the entire Stormtrooper defection campaign. If anything, the fact that the First Order plans to kill them straight off should be more of an encouragement. Given a choice, why would they continue to fight for a cause that does not care about them?”

“Because it shows that we are no better than them!” Poe explodes. “If we leave them there, we are as responsible for their deaths as the First Order is. It would show the galaxy that we are just as willing to leave people behind.”

“We _are_ , Dameron. You know that. This is war. We are all here now precisely because you were willing to die for the Resistance, over Starkiller.”

“This is different.” Poe grits the words through his teeth. “Dying in combat, sure. But this? When there was a chance to save them and _we didn’t?_ We have to bring them back. _”_

“There is no chance to save them!” Statura bites. “General Organa. I know your specialty is impossible rescues, but with this—there is no chance. No ships. No Jedis. Not even defecting Stormtroopers, if Hux and his battle droids are with them at all times. What else can we possibly do?”

“The more important consideration,” Admiral Ackbar points out, “is how they captured the squadron in the first place. They would have needed to know our exact flight path. Which means that we have a snitch, among the ranks. Possibly even within the squadron itself.”

“One of them was missing,” Snap points out, voice low. “Tyrik. Free Two.”

“He may have been killed while they were taken prisoner.”

“If there was an option to go down fighting,” Poe rasps, “Finn would have taken it.”

Leia’s jaw clenches. “Check the backlogs of every single incoming and outgoing comm for the past two weeks,” she orders Major Nerro. “From anyone who would have had access to the Freedom Squadron’s flightplans. Put your entire team on it.”

Nerro salutes. “Yes, ma’am.” With a wave, her team follows her back to the central communications hub.

Poe stumbles out of the room, half-blind with tears.

 

 

 

When Poe comes back to himself enough to notice where he is, he’s already stiff and sore, face salty with drying tears, neck cricked, forehead creased with an impression of the now-damp knees of his uniform. Poe picks his head up slowly, feeling like he may have crash-landed badly on some overly salty planet. No, just the hangar. Pressed up against the back wall, beneath the durasteel angles of _Black One_ ’s hull. He blinks into the gloom.

Jess looks back over her shoulder to peer underneath the X-wing from where she’s sitting beside its nose, huddled against Snap. For a moment, she just watches him. He stares back.

“We’re going to get him back,” he rasps at last. She nods.

Snap looks down at her. “What?”

“We’re going to get Finn back.”

“I know that,” Snap cranes his head to look back at Poe. “Plan?”

The duracrete is cold, very cold, beneath Poe’s body. “No. But we’re going to think of one.”

Jess nods. “Damn straight.”

“Damn straight,” Snap repeats. He stands and offers a hand down to Jess to pull her up. She takes it and jumps to her feet. They walk back to Poe together, half-hunched beneath _Black One_ ’s hull. He takes their outstretched hands and lets them pull him to his feet.

 

 

 

As Poe walks past Leia to resume his station in the control room, barely two hours after—after—she sets a hand on his shoulder in silent support. Poe acknowledges her with a brief nod. When he reaches his post, Snap steps closer to stand by his side, shoring him up against the terrifying abyss of—of—

Poe’s starting to understand now why Finn still won’t talk to him about the six months he was gone. It—just—he—there’s—his brain refuses to function. _That’s ok. I didn’t want a brain anyway. This cannot happen. This CANNOT HAPPEN. No way no way no fucking FUCKING way—_

Major Nerro steps briskly to the front of the room. Leia nods at her to report. “General Organa,” Nerro announces. “My team found evidence in the comm logs that one of the Freedom Squadron has re-defected to the First Order.”

Chaos.

“Silence!” Leia barks. She waves at the major.

“Lieutenant Tyrik,” Nerro continues, “callsign Free Two, received a message threatening his original squadron in the First Order if he did not provide the First Order with information they could use to eliminate Finn. He sent back a message with their flight path to Tighrit.”

 _Absolute_ chaos _._

“I thought they were all from the same squadron!” Major Ematt protests.

“They transferred Tyrik in later.” Poe leans his head in his hands, elbows on the console before him. “The rest of the Freedom Squadron grew up and rose through the ranks together, but they lost one. Tyrik was taken from his original squadron at that point and transferred into their division. He told us, the night they all chose their names.” He does _not_ appreciate the way everyone in the room is looking at him right now, but there are more important problems to ponder.

“But still—that’s no reason to commit _treason!”_ Admiral Statura sputters.

“To a Stormtrooper—” Poe stands and turns to face the rest of the room. “It might be. They’re put into a squadron at birth, and raised with them until they reach fighting age. Some are killed, sure, but the ones who survive—they’re family. Look,” he snaps, fed up with the other officers’ suspicious eyes. How the _fuck_ had he been appointed the Stormtrooper-interpreter? “I’ve talked about this with Finn, ok? The death of one of his squadron—one that _I_ killed, on Jakku—” he swallows— “meant so much to him that he finally decided to leave the First Order. Another targeted him specifically when he recognized Finn on Takodana. Called him a _traitor_. He felt betrayed—personally—at Finn’s defection. Their squadrons are the only family they’ve got. That’s why the Freedom Squadron all escaped _together_. But apparently—I guess for Tyrik—his first squadron still meant more to him.”

The room is eerily silent. At last, Statura turns to Leia. “This means that all of the Stormtroopers pose a security risk.”

“Luke checked them,” Leia snaps. “Every single one who was accepted into the ranks of the Resistance was cleared of lingering loyalty for the First Order. None were double agents.”

“However,” Admiral Ackbar interjects, “at least one of them has since turned back.”

“We need to check all of the others,” Statura bites. “ _Now._ Before any more pilots head out.”

“Or remove them from the forces entirely.” Ematt folds his arms across his chest. “If they were checked before, what good will it do to check them again?”

“This particular Stormtrooper is the first to re-defect,” Snap points out. “And he didn’t do it on his own. So we need to stop the First Order from messing with any others.”

“They’re doing this to weaken the program,” Poe says, very quiet. “If they can convince us that Stormtroopers can’t be trusted, then they’ll be able to stop the Freedom Campaign. Which may be—as you agreed, General Organa—our strongest weapon right now. They know that, so they’re trying to tear it down from the inside. If we give in to that, we give in to _them.”_

“How can you support the free-the-traitors program?” Ematt cries. “If any others are snitches, they’ll tear _us_ down from the inside. I—” His jaw clenches. “There’s only one reason you would continue to support the Stormtrooper defection efforts, and it is _not_ in support of rebuilding the Republic.”

“ _Are you fucking accusing me of being a traitor?”_ Poe roars. “ _Again?_ We’ve been over this. I’m _fucking_ not. That’s my fucking _HUSBAND_ they’re about to _—”_ His throat closes. He finds himself in a chair, arms wrapped around his stomach to hold his guts in place, unable to breathe. He clenches his eyes shut and struggles for air, swamped with waves of nausea. Panic— _panic—PANIC_ —he can’t—he can’t—

 _Breathe, Poe,_ Finn says. _Come on. You can do this. Breathe with me. In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four. There. Like that. You’re going to be ok, Poe. You're going to be ok._

Poe gulps in air, slows his breathing, clasps one hand in the other like he’s holding a hand. When the durasteel grip on Poe’s lungs finally abates, he sits up, shaky. Snap’s hand is on his shoulder. Poe looks up at his friend and nods his thanks. Snap nods back. Poe stands again—and finds Leia’s eyes on him. He looks back down. Her eyes hold no judgement, but _—_ Poe clenches his hands into fists, humiliated. He can feel the officers’ eyes on him.

His first panic attack in months, and first ever in the situation room, in front of all of the other Resistance officers. _Shit._

“And finally, I would like to remind the room,” Leia’s saying, “of the well-established conclusions in these cases. First, Commander Dameron’s actions while prisoner of the First Order were _not_ of his own will. Second, as Kalonia’s inoculation proved successful, we do not have to worry about any fighters falling prey to the brainwashing drug. Third, as Stormtroopers had no choice in their lives, they are not to be held responsible for any actions committed before joining the Resistance. Both parties have been cleared of all suspicion of treason.”

“But now they’re turning traitor on us—” Ematt’s face is flushed with rage.

“I would also like to remind you that this is the first instance of treason among the ex-troopers,” Leia continues straight over his protests. “It is not yet a pattern, nor do I plan to allow it to become one. Is that very clear?”

Ematt mutters an apology.

“If I understand correctly,” Leia proceeds, “the situation stands as follows: First, a former Stormtrooper re-defected due to blackmail. Second, this calls into question the loyalty of all of the ex-troopers currently serving in the Resistance’s forces. Third, the Freedom Campaign may be our best weapon against the First Order. Fourth, the Freedom Campaign may be our greatest weakness. Anything I missed?” She pauses. Silence. “Luke.” She looks to the back corner of the room where the Jedi stands, silent and watchful. “Please check the loyalties of all remaining ex-troopers on base. In particular, ask about their former squadrons or any other potential blackmail the First Order has on them.”

“Of course.” Luke nods.

“Admiral Ackbar. Please ground all missions containing ex-troopers for the time being and assign others to their place. Ensure the utmost confidentiality regarding flightpaths, targets, and mission details.”

Ackbar salutes.

“Everyone else.” Leia surveys the room. “Panic, unrest, and mutiny will destroy us faster than the First Order ever could. We’ve had snitches before, among the ranks. Defectors, traitors, who seemed to be the most loyal Resistance troops. If we decided to judge an entire group disloyal based on the actions of an individual, we would not have a fighting force. The rest of the ex-troopers _must_ therefore be presumed innocent until we determine otherwise. They are, as Commander Dameron pointed out, our most powerful weapon against the First Order. If I hear of any incidents among the ranks, I will hold both the antagonising party and their commanding officers responsible. Is that clear?”

The crowded lines of officers salute her.

“Good. Report back here at 0700 tomorrow. We will discuss how to proceed. Any questions?”

Silence.

“Dismissed.”

The room empties, one by one.

 

 

 

They are not going to be reconditioned. _No point in wasting more resources on defective material_ , Hux had snapped as their bodies—immobilized by stun batons—were manhandled into cuffs and shock collars. Finn isn’t sure whether this was good news or bad. Looking around at the faces of his squadron now, it’s clear to him he’s not the only one who’s conflicted.

Bad, he thinks at last. Reconditioning would not have been pleasant, but it’s not final. He’s broken free before. All of them have. They could do it again, eventually. This is, presumably, why the First Order will not bother with it.

Death? No one escapes from death.

They were transferred from the destroyer to the small planet it orbits and thrown into a small holding cell deep within the bowels of the First Order base on the planet’s cavernous surface. Just enough room for them to huddle together, silent, frozen, numb.

The only one missing, of course, is Tyrik. They will not speak his name again.

This is when he’s supposed to rouse his squadron, Finn knows. Plan an escape. Inspire hope. But with an Interdictor, and a solid phalanx of battle droids—fucking _battle droids!_ who even has those anymore?—there is, Finn knows, no chance of escape. He also highly doubts the Resistance will turn in the other Stormtroopers in exchange for them. He hopes the Resistance saw the coordinates he was tapping, but he’s not going to hold out hope for a rescue. No matter how determined they are—Poe will be, he knows, _oh Force, he’ll be distraught_ —there’s no way to break them out.

“I’m sorry,” Finn rasps at last. They turn to him in silence. “My squadron. I’m so sorry.”

“For fucking what, Finn?” Onira tilts her head at him, bemused.

“I should have seen it. Tyrik. I’m his _captain._ ” The guilt overwhelms him. “I’m responsible for all of you. I should have known what was going on. Should have stopped him, somehow. Should have—”

“How?” Poru’s almond eyes are sharp on his. “No way you could have known, Finn. It happened right before the flight, Hux said—”

“No point in rehashing, either,” Elraina adds. “It’s done. We’re here now. It’s—” Her almond eyes flick up to his. “It’s over now. We—”

 _“No,”_ Finn growls. “It’s not over yet. It’s never over. Not until we’re dead. So. How are we going to escape?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Ajib mutters.

Elraina whacks his arm with her cuffed hands. “Don’t—”

“No, look, Captain, I know you want to find a way out but—”

“But fucking what, Ajib?” Onira snaps. “Do you want to get dragged out there tomorrow to die like a line of drugged nerfs?”

“We—”

“Quiet!” Finn snaps. “I gave them our coordinates.”

Umoka turns to him in horror. “You _what?_ Finn, how could you? You—”

“I gave the _Resistance_ our coordinates,” Finn clarifies. “I tapped this planet’s location in blink during the transmission.”

“Do you think they can bomb the base?” Quelni looks up, eyes alight.

“Not with three Interdictors in orbit,” Poru mumbles. “It would be suicide. The fleet would have to take out the Interdictors first, fighting against three TIE fleets, then against the base’s TIEs and ground anti-air defense system, then take out the gravity well projectors, _then_ come rescue us.”

“Not to mention, of course, the fact that they plan to kill us at the first sign of disturbance,” Ajib adds, bitter.

“Do you think they even noticed the coordinates?” Quelni asks.

“Yes.” Finn’s jaw clenches. He knows Poe.

“Why did you bother?” Umoka asks quietly. “If there’s nothing they can do—”

“There’s always something they can do. Don’t you listen to the fire-stories? But we need to help. Find a way out of here. In case they can’t.”

“There _is_ no way out,” Poru groans. “Finn, you saw—”

“I saw.”

“So—what, you’re going to convince the battle droids to free themselves?” Poru snaps.

“If we could hack into their code—” Elraina starts.

“How would we ever get access to them? They’ll kill us on sight.” Quelni rubs a tired hand through her short dark hair. Ajib stretches his hands out to her, but they’re each secured too far apart from each other to be able to touch.

“We escaped from them before,” Finn says, quiet and firm. “We can do it again.”

“That time the chains were on our minds,” Umoka says, very soft. “Now they’re on our bodies.”

“Should make it easier.” Onira props her chin on her cuffed hands. “All we need are keys.”

“And protection against blasters, of course,” Poru points out, sardonic. “Something stronger than that fucking armor.”

“And a ship,” Ajib adds.

“And two or three massive starfighter fleets, to tear down all three star destroyers.” Elraina’s mouth twists to the side.

“And—” A sudden hissing cuts Onira off. The smell hits them all at once, subtle but unmistakeable. Stun gas.

“Enough chit-chat,” Hux yawns over the comm in their cell. “Goodnight, little traitors.”

Finn holds his breath—he can see their squadron doing the same, pressing their arms over their faces to block out the gas—but there’s no escaping. Not in this tiny room. Not in the durasteel grasp of the _fucking_ First Order.

“My squadron,” he says. Takes another half-breath to continue, feels the gas seep further into his brain. “Don’t give up hope. We—” Speaking is suddenly far too complicated. He holds his breath again, but it’s too late now. One by one, his squadron slumps back against the walls they’re chained to, falls to the cold floor. Finn’s eyes grow heavier and heavier. _Poe. POE!_ The darkness is overwhelming. Within three blinks, he’s out.

 

 

 

Poe isn’t surprised to find Luke practicing katas in the dimly moonlit clearing. Nor is he surprised when just as he steps into the open space, Luke finishes his flying whirl, sheathes his lightsaber, and turns to face him.

Poe nods to the Jedi. “Master Skywalker. I have a question for you.”

 

 

 

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Poe looks up from his toolkit and blinks at her under the yellow hangar lights. _Black One_ doesn’t even need any repairs, nor maintenance, nor even polishing, but he’s still out here instead of sleeping because…because.

Leia holds a bottle of Correlian brandy in one hand and a pair of small cut glasses in the other. She sits beneath _Black One’_ s nose without ceremony, pours out a cupful, and hands it to him.

Poe stares at her.

“At ease, Commander,” Leia nods at him. “You can sit, you know. I’m not a General after hours.”

After a moment, Poe accepts the cup and sits beside her, at a respectful distance. Leia pours herself a few fingers of the luminescent drink, sets the bottle aside, closes her eyes, and takes one long sip. She raises one brow at Poe. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“ _Fuck_ no.”

“Good.” Leia takes a second mouthful, swishes it around her palate, and swallows. “Neither do I.” _Neither did Finn_ , she thinks, but she doesn’t say it aloud. “I’m sorry. I would say it gets easier,” she says instead, “but I try not to lie to my troops.”

Poe sets the glass aside and puts his head in his hands.

Leia takes her third ceremonial swallow, sets the empty glass down, and looks up at the stars.

“We can’t let them die there,” Poe rasps.

Leia sighs. “Dameron. In order to get them out, we’d need a plan. A good one.”

Poe hesitates. “I’ve got one,” he murmurs at last. “But you’re not going to like it.”


	5. transitive property

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on droid gender politics: I love, love, LOVE Oscar Isaac's support for gender-neutral droids. However, both Poe and Rey clearly refer to BB-8 with male pronouns during the movie. After some deliberation, therefore, I decided to go with canon. My personal headcanon is that Poe asked BB-8 what gender pronouns to use and BB-8 asked to be called he/him. Because Poe, as a true space gentleman, would absolutely ask first. And BB-8 would sass anyone (Rey included) who dared use the wrong pronoun.

Major Nerro opens a line up to a broad range of networks, sending a repeater message on all the primary open channels. Poe leans forward in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, listening to the message as it plays over and over again: “Man with a Map to Knight in a Mask. Do you copy?”

So far, he doesn’t copy. Many others try to, but vanish from the channel as soon as they’re asked to provide an identification signature. The words echo around the small freighter’s hold. It still smells like spice, even after sitting in a junkyard on the edge of Nar Shaddaa for years before being liberated by the Resistance for missions requiring incognito transport or communication. Poe sips a cup of hot caf, stares at a mostly empty cup of cold caf, runs his finger up and down the handle of the cup of still-cold caf, rests his forehead on the table, closes his eyes.

 

 

 

Poe bolts upright out of a sound sleep, fists raised to protect his head, heart pounding. The metallic voice comes on the line again. “Knight in a Mask to Man with a Map. I copy.”

Major Nerro’s eyes flick to Poe’s rigid expression, back to the control panel. She motions to Poe. Poe leans forward, shaky. “Man with a Map to Knight in a Mask. Requesting confirmation of identity.”

Silence.

“Despite your protests to the contrary, you do, in fact, regret that night in Kway Teow with a Mon Cal, a Jungle Felucian, and a pair of Gossams.”

Poe puts his head in his hands. It had, at the time, seemed like a good idea to throw Kylo off of BB-8’s scent with increasingly distracting memories. A futile effort, in the end, When he peers out from between his fingers, Nerro is admirably repressing a smile, but the rest of her comms team is not as successful. Poe clears his throat. “Identification accepted. Opening private communications line 14-RTH-2593-GKS-612.”

“Copy that. Joining line 14-RTH-2593-GKS-612.”

Nerro’s fingers dance over the panel, connecting them to a more private line and ensuring that their multilevel encryption system is still in place. A low chime indicates they have successfully joined the private channel.

“Man with a Map to Knight in a Mask. We’ve joined the line.”

“Never expected you’d want to talk to me again, best traitor in the Resistance.” The smooth metallic voice reverberates in the suddenly claustrophobic hold. “To what do I owe this great honor?”

Poe would really, _really_ like to be holding Finn’s hand right now. He plants his feet on the floor and dives in. “Your good friend Hux took something of ours just recently. Do you know anything about this?”

Momentary silence, then, “We’ve taken many things of yours. Maybe if you describe it to me, I’ll know what to look for.”

“Why don’t _you_ describe it to me instead, so I know we’re on the same vector. It was taken within the last standard day, if that narrows down your options a bit.”

Another brief silence. “I was not aware that we had taken any prizes in the last standard.”

“This conversation will be over much sooner if you’re honest.”

“I am being honest, in fact. And I have no particular need to cut this lovely chat short. I enjoy hearing the way your voice rasps a bit when you’re scared. It was far lovelier on the Finalizer when paired with your bloody face, but even over a comm, it’s very nice.”

Poe’s blaster is half out of his holster before he realizes the futility of the gesture. “I was under the impression that you and your ginger friend with the stick up his ass worked for the same company.”

“We do. But he takes home so many lovely trinkets, I can’t possibly keep track of them all.”

“You have no idea what he did, do you?” Poe exchanges a smug glance with Major Nerro. One of the intel techs is furiously taking notes on a datapad to bring this intel back to the base. They knew Hux and Ren were rivals, but they hadn’t been certain how wide the gap was between them.

“I might, if you provide some reason for me to know what you’re talking about.”

Poe leans in close to the comm. “He’s not actually your friend, is he? Don’t bother answering. We’ve got a few—” he grins— “inside sources, you might say. So if you wanted to take one of his trinkets, we would completely understand. We might even turn a blind eye.”

“You have an impressive amount of confidence in your informants, you know. One might even say a—foolish amount.”

“Let’s stick to the subject at hand. Would you like to take one of Hux’s trinkets?”

“You do pay for trinkets, I assume.”

“As long as they’re delivered in the original packaging, with the seal still intact. We’ll tell you where you can drop this one off.”

Kylo’s silent for a moment. “And the payment would be…”

“We’ve established that you are not actually very friendly with the ginger, correct?”

Kylo does not acknowledge this either way. Poe continues. “The first half of your payment, therefore, is the look on his face when he comes knocking on your door asking for the trinket.”

“He would not dare. Not once I have relieved him of it.”

“Even better, then. He’ll be looking over his shoulder for a long time, afraid you’ll take another of his toys.”

“Petty victories are sweet, but they fade as quickly as the taste of a dessert cube. I’m assuming you’re also offering something a bit more lasting.”

“Of course! Because I was so sorry to hear that he’s not your friend, I thought that for the second half of your payment, I’d give you a friend of your own.”

Silence.

“And who, or what, would that be?”

Poe forces his voice to remain steady. “Myself,” he says. “I am offering myself, as payment.”

Kylo‘s silent for a moment. “I would prefer that Jedi child,” he answers at last. “If you’re offering tit for tat.”

Somehow, Poe doubts that this word choice was accidental. Does he know that Rey’s his— Maybe not. “Not an option.”

More silence.

“And what, exactly, makes you think I’d be interested in this particular payment?”

“To begin with? Eliminating your enemy’s starfleet commander, the one who’s sent an embarrassingly large percentage of your TIEs and star destroyers into oblivion. Oh, right, and the one who took down your expensive and unimaginatively named Death Star replica. I would think that’s a pretty valuable prize to take home.”

Kylo snorts. “As appealing as the idea of mounting your head as a trophy on my wall is, it’s hardly something to stretch my neck out for.”

“That’s too bad, really. Because then you’d miss out on all of the information you could—”

“Right,” Kylo scoffs. “Because they’re going to let you waltz in here with all of their most valuable battle schematics.”

“No,” Poe admits, unconcerned. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to dig up something useful, regardless. I’ve flown for a long time now. Know pretty much everyone there is to know, every hidey-hole planet we have dealings on. Surely something in there might tempt you.”

Kylo hums, noncommittal. “And?”

Poe looks out at the stars and swallows. “And a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away, you had a crush on me.”

Kylo is silent.

“It was clear in our reunion on your star-yacht that nothing’s changed since then.” Poe closes his eyes and imagines Finn walking off a shuttle onto the landing bay, alive, unhurt, free. He presses on, hoarse. “We were—interrupted, on the _Finalizer._  By that traitor in a helmet. Would you like to resume where we left off?”

More silence.

“I thought your friends were rather particular about getting their trinkets back fully wrapped.”

Deep breath. “That’s for trinkets. This is payment.”

“Hmm,” Kylo says. “Well.” More silence. “What, exactly, would I deliver in return?”

“Hux captured seven of our pilots. We want them back.”

“Ah.” Kylo’s voice relaxes, luxurious. “This is about the traitor, isn’t it. I seem to recall you being rather fond of him. Got lost in the stars with his gaggle of baby traitors, did he?”

Poe’s hand clenches into a fist.

“And now you want him home safe. So much so that you’re willing to put your last few days on the line. Or, perhaps, the rest of your long and miserable life. As I choose. You are a remarkably reckless man, do you know that?”

“I know.”

“Hmm.” They can hear his breath hum through the grate in his mask.

“You are asking me to knock on Hux’s door and ask him to give me the trinkets.”

“Yes. He’s got a few lizards. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

Kylo’s silent for a moment. “He’s not a very trusting soul, is he? Not a problem. I do not need to resort to brute force.” There’s a sharp smile in his voice at the pun. “Once I have the trinkets. I’ll have them delivered to—neutral territory, I assume?”

“Asteroid. We’ll send coordinates.”

“Where you’ll be waiting to take a ride to me with a squadron of troopers.”

“Yes.” Poe does _not_ think about black leather gloves or durasteel masks.

“There is one slight wrinkle in this plan, you know. Hux could be at any one of our bases. I would hate to ruin the surprise by asking him where he is.”

Poe snorts. “I knew you two weren’t very close, but not even knowing the other’s location? That’s _cold_.” Major Nerro exchanges a flashing smile with one of the intel techs. Good to know their information is, in fact, accurate.

“You have a point in here somewhere, I assume.”

“We have the coordinates. He’s at one of your bases, and he’ll be there for the next standard day. You will have to pick up the trinkets by 1100 tomorrow and deliver them to us in pristine condition, with no tracking devices of any kind, or else the deal is off.”

“Hmm.”

Poe bows his head and waits.

“Deal.” The voice is low, powerful, metallic.

“Good.” Poe takes a deep breath, motions to the one of the comms techs. “Transmitting coordinates for the trinkets now…and for the rendezvous.”

“Coordinates received. They do, in fact, point to an actual First Order base. I’m sure you’ll understand my surprise.”

Poe ignores this. “Then my comrades and I will meet your troopers at the rendezvous tomorrow.”

“And then by tomorrow night, you’ll be aboard my lovely—what was it you called it? My yacht. The _Vengeance._ I’m sure you’ll be reassured to hear that star destroyers are much harder to shoot down than pleasure-yachts. And you will, of course, have no contact with any defective Stormtroopers. Escape attempts will not end well for you.”

“None of this will end well for me.”

“I thought you get off on reckless endeavors. Don’t you enjoy this sort of thing?”

“Is there anything else you need to know about the deal before we close the private line?”

“You know, I’m really looking forward to seeing you naked. I think I’ll make a poster: best traitor in the Resistance, revealed.”

“Man with a Map, signing off and closing private channel.”

Click.

 

 

 

The silence after the comm cuts off is deafening. Poe stares across the small hold. Bodies move around the room, say things that do not register as human speech. His ears ring with a hollowness that spreads through his throat, his lungs, his stomach, his core. A pair of hands are shaking in his lap—they almost look like they could be his, but that doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t have hands, which also doesn’t matter, because he can’t breathe, and he can’t see, and he can’t hear anything at all—

Poe gasps, unable to get enough oxygen. Something’s pounding in his ears, which might be his heartbeat or gunfire or a failing engine cluster, he’s not sure, it doesn’t really matter because he’s dying, he’s going to die, he’s going to be a _prisoner_ again, a _PRISONER_ , trapped, at their mercy, he can’t—he can’t—he’s never even going to see Finn again, and—and there’s a warm hand on the back of his neck, pressing his head down between his knees. A low, gentle voice in his ear saying something soft and soothing, over and over again.

Poe latches onto it, pretending he’s Luke Skywalker trying not to fall into the abyss below Bespin. He’s on Yavin IV again, clinging to a tree one-handed, fending off bloodgnats, panting in the stifling humidity of a summer afternoon, calling to his neighbor’s daughter to come rescue him in the Falcon, hoping his mother won’t call them in for lunch until they’re safely back on the Rebel Alliance’s medical ship getting his hand reattached.

His mother. His father. He’ll see them again. They’ll keep him company until Finn comes.

Poe closes his eyes and drags desperately at his breathing to make it slow down. Slowly but surely, the voice at his ear starts to make more sense. It’s counting, saying his name, telling him to breathe. He opens his eyes to the kindly brown eyes and soft hair-cloud of Major Nerro, crouching at his side. Poe blinks. He’s still hollow. Someone stole his insides and spaced them. That’s ok, though. Probably wasn’t anything worth keeping.

Poe straightens carefully, leans back against the wall, and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Sorry—sorry about that.”

Nerro shakes her head. “Nothing to apologize for, Poe. But—you don’t have to do this. You know that, right?” she murmurs, low and insistent. “We can—”

“I _do_ have to do this.” Poe cuts her off. “I do.”

She’s silent for a moment, then— “Poe.” She bites her lip. “What you said. About the—the crush.”

 _“Do not tell Leia.”_ Poe glares at her. “She doesn’t know that’s part of the plan. I don’t want to hurt her. I thought that might be the only way to convince him to accept the deal. Turns out I was right. So.” He takes a breath. “You’re going to tell your team to keep that _silent_ , do you hear me? I don’t know what Ren will do. But I don’t want everyone to—to think I—I just— _please_. Do not tell _anyone._ Especially—” He swallows. “Especially Finn.”

“If it becomes strategically important, I may have to tell the general.”

“I know.”

“But other than that, don’t worry about it. We’re comms-intel.” Her lips quirk up into a not-quite-smile. “Good at keeping secrets. I’ll tell them to keep it in-team classified.”

“Thanks.” Poe looks at his hands.

“Is there anything else?”

Poe blinks at her. _That I want to do or say as a free human being?_ “I’m going to go talk to BB-8,” is all he says, once he gets his voice back under control.

“Ok.” She slides to her feet and reaches a hand down to him.

Poe takes it and eases out from behind the table, legs still shaking beneath him, one hand on the table for leverage. He waves at BB-8 to follow him, then makes his way down the corridor to a private room, one hand on the wall for balance, listening to the comforting trundle of his beloved droid, expert astromech, faithful partner, and best friend.

“It’ll be all right, BB-8,” he reassures the droid.

 

 

 

BB-8 is silent. He knows by now that the words are meant for Poe’s ears, not his. It will not be all right. Why do organics—his in particular—insist on pretending that things will be all right even when the situation has quite clearly gone to shit? He thinks about replying, [POE IS AN IDIOTIC MOOF-MILKER WITH A HERO COMPLEX WHO NEEDS TO LEARN TO THINK WITH HIS BRAIN NOT HIS ASS], but although Poe undid the vulgar-inhibitor sequence in his coding so BB-8 could express himself as he chose, he’s still hesitant to swear where other Binary-speakers can hear him. He repeats it loudly to himself instead, admiring the loop and swirl of the letters on his internal display.

However, for an idiotic moof-milker, Poe does have a remarkable talent for getting out of shitty situations with complete aplomb. BB-8 did not doubt him on Jakku, not even when the Evil First Order Assholes grabbed his pilot and took him captive. And sure enough, it was all right in the end.

Poe would say this is because the Force was with him. BB-8 has discussed the Force with Poe several times before, on those interminable hyperspace jaunts when the choice is (a) play loud buzzing noises to Poe at irregular intervals to keep him awake, (b) endure Poe’s awful taste in music (singing the themes to almost every holo-vid serial drama, for example, just to prove to himself that he can), (c) listen to Poe catalogue the various features of every fighter and tech on base according to attractiveness, interesting-ness, and usefulness in a sexual encounter, or (d) discuss philosophy. Of these options, philosophical musings have always seemed to be the least painful option, so: Force.

Droids generally do not put much stock in the Force. True: being shut up, shoved aside, and/or tricked into obeying a Force-user is an irritating experience. Also true: lightsabers are really fucking cool. Clearly, the Force exists, and does things. But Gonk droids also exist, and do things. Why does no one pray to them? More importantly, can an entity that contains neither processing chips nor synapses truly be sentient? Affect the outcome of an altercation? Protect the beings included on the list of [ORGANICS FOR WHOM BB-8 FEELS A STRONG AFFECTION]? The available evidence is inconclusive.

Poe (not being a stickler for evidence, much to BB-8’s constant chagrin) believes in the Force. Poe grew up among giants and their followers, people who never forgot to say “May the Force be with you” before watching a loved one depart on a long voyage. Poe has heard stories of people doing extraordinary things with the Force, including blowing up giant death-bombs.

But BB-8 knows of other people who have blown up giant death-bombs. Poe doesn’t need the Force. Poe has genius skills and an absurdly brave heart. Which are, as far as BB-8 is concerned, a Force unto themselves.

So when all of the appropriate vectors have been tabulated, calculated, analyzed, and synthesized, this is what it comes down to: Poe believes that the Force will make it be all right. BB-8 believes in Poe. The transitive property still holds, even in hyperspace.

Therefore, it will be all right.

BB-8 rolls faster down the hallway to keep up with the long strides of his nerfherding master, expert pilot, faithful partner, and best friend.

 

 

 

Poe rests a gentle hand on BB-8’s sloping chassis as BB-8’s [compartment] slides back into his core. “Thanks, buddy,” he whispers. “You’ll pass it on? And the message, too?”

When directed at certain people, such as coat-thieving fiends and Evil First Order Assholes, BB-8’s methane torch is usually a rude gesture with a typically foolish humanoid connotation of a sexual organ that no one is supposed to mention, even though approximately half the humanoid population has one. However, when directed at Poe, the torch only ever symbolizes an equally mystifying humanoid gesture symbolizing a prehensile digit, with a far more positive connotation. BB-8 would ask Poe for a more detailed fixture to make each respective meaning clear, but it’s usually more entertaining to watch others misunderstand his intentions. If they are too organic-centric to learn Binary, they deserve to let BB-8 make a little fun of them at their expense.

BB-8 would also like to ask Poe for a palm-thumb-four-fingers extension too, but he’s not sure if a mechanical hand can provide the same level of comfort as an organic hand. So instead, BB-8 extends his methane torch now and lights it for Poe. Poe smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. This is an important distinction for humanoids, generally indicating that while the bearer of the smile is attempting to pretend that everything will be all right, everything is not, in fact, all right.

No surprise.

“BB-8,” Poe whispers. “You belong to Finn now, ok? I’m sorry. You’ve been the best astro a pilot could ever hope for, and the best partner-in-crime.” His smile eases into his eyes a little now. “Take care of Finn for me, ok? He can be as much of a nerfherder as me, sometimes. Or. Well. Maybe not quite as much. But still. He’ll need you. Stay close to him, ok? If—” Poe takes a rattling breath. “If he wants you to.” Poe gives BB-8 one last hug.

Poe gives good hugs.

[POE IS A RECKLESS NERFHERDER WHO SHOULD LISTEN TO HIS GENERAL WHEN SHE TELLS HIM NOT TO DO THINGS. KYLO REN CANNOT BE TRUSTED WITH THE CARE OF ORGANIC OR MECHANICAL BEINGS.]

 _That_ brings a full grin to Poe’s face. BB-8 whistles with glee. “I’m going to miss you, buddy,” Poe laughs.

[I WILL MISS YOU TOO FRIEND-POE.]

BB-8 pauses, rocks closer into Poe’s arms.

[IT’LL BE ALL RIGHT.]

 

 

 

The surface of the asteroid is treacherous, irregular, sloping, unstable, pitted with craters, devoid of life or atmosphere. The Resistance’s shuttle checks for the most stable portion of ground before settling into a careful landing. Outside their shuttle’s viewports, space is dark and vast and silent.

They wait.

 

 

 

The proximity alert informs them of the First Order’s transport the moment it exits hyperspace. Major Nerro, Poe, and the ground squad gather above the closed gangplank, blasters at the ready.  

As both ships activate their atmospheric generators, a pair of twin domes rise over the ships, offering humanoids safe passage on the atmosphere-less asteroid. Through a bay viewport, Poe watches the First Order’s red lights spread across the pockmarked ground, filtering through spacedust, reflecting against the fading top of their dome of artificial atmosphere.

Major Nerro touches Poe’s shoulder. Poe looks at her. He can’t quite remember where he put his insides.

“You don’t have to do this, Poe,” she repeats.

Poe’s shoulders relax into parade rest. He looks at the major, nods. “I do.”

Major Nerro looks at him for one long, silent moment. “Ok, then,” she says at last. “Let’s go.”

The gangplank lowers. The First Order’s transport lowers to match. In a unified phalanx, each side steps out, each led by a line of blasters. Poe cranes his neck around a fighter to see the cluster of prisoners. There’s Finn. _FINN._ Bruises and dried blood on his face, limping slightly, but standing tall.

Finn’s eyes finally catch his. The resulting ear-to-ear grin almost overwhelms Poe. He tries to grin back, but he’s not sure his face is working right. All he can do now is try to memorize Finn’s face for the last time. The last time. _Holy fucking bantha shit._

“On the count of three, we will exchange prisoners.” Major Nerro does not need to raise her voice to be heard above the silence. “Each side will walk across the space between the ships.”

Finn’s eyes flick across their group, brow furrowed in confusion. Poe watches, gut clenching, as Finn looks down the line of fighters one by one, then behind them to scan the short line of comms techs, intel officers, and Poe. No First Order prisoners to exchange.

“Any shots or other disturbances will be considered an attack,” Nerro continues, “and will be immediately returned with fire from both our blasters and our ship. When the transfer is complete, we will take off simultaneously. Any disturbances or irregularities at that point will also result in heavy fire. Is that clear?”

“Copy that.” A chrome-plated captain raises a hand in acknowledgement. “In addition, prisoners must be completely silent and walk straight forward along their respective paths. Any attempt to speak, deviate from the path, or make any movements other than walking in a straight line, hands down, will be result in immediate execution via blaster. Clear?”

Finn’s eyes return to Poe’s. He’s not grinning anymore. Poe wraps his arms around his chest, trying to keep himself together. Whatever Finn finds in Poe’s face is enough to confirm his fears. Poe closes his eyes, unable to face Finn’s devastated gaze.

“Copy that. Counting—”

“One,” Major Nerro and the chrome captain count in synchrony.

“Two.”

He can’t do this. He can’t do this. He _cannot do this._

“Three.”

Poe steps forward into no-man’s-land.

Finn steps forward with his squad. He stares at Poe with wide eyes—grief-stricken, bewildered, furious, helpless. Poe’s face is numb. One step forward. Two. Three. More. Red and blue lights play across the spacedust rising from their footsteps. As they pass each other, Poe can’t help turning his head back over his shoulder. Finn does the same—twin planets caught in orbit.

Plasteel-gloved hands grab Poe’s shoulders, pat down his front, spin him around to finish their inspection of his back. Facing the Resistance’ delegation now, Poe can see two members of the Freedom squadron forcibly preventing Finn from running back after him. The troopers’ scanners find no trackers, poison-escape pills, hidden weapons, or explosive chemicals on Poe.

One tiny click, and the binders are in place. The cold weight of the durasteel settles onto his wrists. Red and blue lights flicker over the tears on Finn’s face. _It’s going to be all right, buddy,_ Poe promises, with everything he has. The troopers jerk him around again, march him to the ship, and propel him up the gangplank. Just before he enters the transport, Poe looks back over his shoulder one last time.

The entire Resistance delegation is saluting him in silence. Finn’s hands press tightly over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. Poe holds his gaze—wild, desperate, heartbroken—until, with a shove and a stumble, he’s boarding the First Order’s transport.

Rough hands drag Poe down the corridor, shove him into a chair, lock him to it. The ship lifts off the asteroid. A harsh jolt, and they’re in hyperspace. Poe sits straight in his seat throughout the ride, eyes staring at nothing, surrounded by blank helmets. His fingers twist back and forth over the empty indent where his wedding ring used to rest.


	6. not yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: non-consensual above-the-neck touching, threat of future rape. If you're concerned/curious where this story is going to go, content-wise, don't hesitate to ask! I'm trying to avoid spoilers, but I'm happy to answer any questions you have in the comments or on [tumblr.](http://beautifullights1.tumblr.com/)  
>    
>  _Ôji ta djôbi pa seu_  
>  _Kêl ki-m ôdja foi strelas_  
>  _ta fla-m m-o bai p-o ka bem màs, krêtxeu_  
>  _…na disampàru_  
>  _N sta djôbi kaminhu_  
>  _ku spada y forsa di sodadi y dor_  
>  _Ku alma livri na tempu_  
>  _N krê vivi ku ôdjus fitxadu_  
>  _pa-m têne-u djuntu ku mi._
> 
> Today, when I looked up at the sky,  
> I could see stars.  
> They told me you had left never to return, my love.  
> …In despair, I look for a way,  
> with a sword and the power of love and pain.  
> With a soul free in time.  
> I wish to live with my eyes shut,  
> to keep you with me.
> 
>  
> 
> _—Ôdjus Fitxadu (The Idan Raichel Project)_

“What the _FUCK_ did he do?” Finn screams at Major Nerro, the moment the gangplank closes behind them. He bashes off the intel tech trying to scan him for trackers.

Major Nerro’s eyes are so much older than her years. “He exchanged his life for yours and your squadron’s.” She waves another pair of techs over to grab Finn’s arms and hold him down while they scan him, ensuring that no traces of his stay with the First Order remain.

“ _WHY?”_ Finn roars.

“Because we need you in order to win this war. We need the Stormtroopers to join our side.”

“But—we were captured because Tyrik—”

“We know. General Organa and the rest of command decided that the risk posed by ex-troopers is not substantially greater than the risk posed by any other Resistance member. We’ve had other snitches and counter-agents before. Luke will continue to check everyone for potential disloyalties. Security is much higher—only those who absolutely need to know will be told mission details. The admirals will send out flightpath information via encrypted pathways between astromechs, rather than announce it to the pilots. It may—it may happen again. But General Organa—well.”

Nerro smiles. “Commander Dameron believes, and General Organa agrees, that if we stop the campaign because of this risk, we throw our entire war strategy into jeopardy. The effort to take the First Order down from the inside out, despite the threat of spies and blackmail, is our most powerful tool right now. General Organa therefore allowed Dameron to offer himself in exchange for you.”

No. No. _No._ “What—fucking—” Finn punches a wall. Stares at his bruised knuckles, punches the wall again, whirls back to Nerro. “Where are they taking him?” he rasps, sick to his stomach. “Why did they agree?”

She bites her lip, then reluctantly admits: “They’re taking him to Kylo Ren.”

All of the blood drains from Finn’s face. He finds himself sitting on the floor, flanked by Ajib and Elraina, staring up at Nerro, swamped by nausea. “ _No_ ,” he croaks.

She crouches on the floor before him. “I’m so sorry, Finn.”

“Why would Ren agree to that? He’s just a _pilot_. Why would Poe even fucking _offer_ that? Ren’s going to—going to take all of the Resistance’s secrets.”

“No. Luke Force-locked them away. Ren won’t be able to get them.”

“He’ll try to fucking _brainwash_ him again. What if the inoculation doesn’t work?”

“Kalonia’s team worked on that for _months_ , Finn. You know it works.”

“Then _why_ ,” Finn snarls. “ _WHY_ did Ren agree to the deal?”

“I don’t know,” Nerro says, very quiet.

 _POE._ Finn curls into himself, knees to chest, and buries his face in his arms.

He wants to say something like _but we’ll rescue him, right? but he’s coming back. but we’ll make another deal with Kylo Ren to exchange him for—for— but he’ll escape on his own, by charming a Stormtrooper. He’s good at charming people, you know. He’ll be fine, and then he’ll be home, and then I’ll get to yell at him for trying to be a rathtarfucking hero and throwing his Force-damned life away. I’ll see him again. I will. We’ll rescue him. He’s coming back. We’ll make another deal. He’ll escape. He’ll—_

Finn looks up at her, completely numb. “I told him I couldn’t mourn him again.”

Nerro’s lips pinch closer together. She nods.

“So I’m not going to. Not until we hear for sure—”

She nods again.

“He thought that—” Finn takes a breath. “That saving us. Would help win the war.”

“Yes. So does Leia.”

“Do you?”

She smiles, grim and predatory. “We have Hux’s coordinates now. Thanks to you. Now that all of you are out, we can start a rebellion there, without fearing for your lives. Find him. Capture him. Eliminate him. Move on to other bases, start rebellions there too.”

“We’re going to burn down the fucking galaxy,” Finn says.

Nerro reaches out her hand.

Finn takes it and pulls them both to their feet. “Let’s get started.”

 

 

 

The shuttle touches down to the landing bay with a faint whine as its engines cut out. Moments later, the gangplank lowers and the Resistance delegation pours out, headed by Finn and the Freedom Squadron. There’s a distant sound of clapping from the gathered officers and techs, but Finn has no time for that. He strides straight to Leia, stopping only when his face is inches from hers.

“ _HOW COULD YOU LET HIM DO THAT?”_ he screams.

Leia steps back one measured pace, eyes sorrowful but firm. “Do you think there was any way to stop him?”

“ _Banthashit_ ,” Finn snarls. “You’re his General. If you’d ordered him not to do it, he wouldn’t have done it.”

“Captain Finn.” Her voice is hard. “You may take a moment to regain control over yourself.”

“How could you?” Finn whispers, voice breaking. _“How could you?”_

“I’m sorry, Finn.” Leia’s eyes glitter, overbright. “We need you, and your squadron, if we are to win this war.”

“You need Poe!” Finn shouts.

“We need all of you.” Leia’s gaze is steady in his. Lines of fatigue cut in around her eyes. “Dameron made a choice to offer his life in exchange for yours. I made a choice to accept his plan. You, Finn, may make a choice to honor his wishes and fight to win over your former comrades until the galaxy is safe again.”

Finn looks at her for a long moment, jaw clenched. “Major Nerro and I,” he says at last. “We’re going to obliterate them.”

Leia smiles grimly. “I look forward to it.”

 

 

 

Nerro and her team head off with Leia to debrief. Finn stumbles straight back to their bunk, unable to face anyone’s sympathetic eyes. BB-8 follows him, uncharacteristically quiet. Finn has not said a word to it since entering the Resistance’s shuttle. Once he closes the door behind them, however, the little droid whirls into action.

[BB-8 HAS MESSAGE FROM POE TO FINN.]

Finn freezes, one hand still on the door controls. _“What?”_ he asks, hoarse. He kneels before it, limbs unsteady as custard.

In response, BB-8 extends the holoprojector. The ray of blue light outlines the beloved lines of Poe’s face—dark curls sweeping messily over his forehead, eyes intent on the holocam, as though looking straight into Finn’s eyes. Finn reaches out to him, hands trembling, fingers passing uselessly through the flickering blue light.

“Finn,” holo-Poe says. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to do this. I know you’re grieving now, and—you probably hate me.”

He leans closer to the holocam. “I’m sorry. I hope you’ll find a way to forgive me someday. I couldn’t leave you there, let them—”

Poe shakes his head and wraps his arms around his chest. “I _couldn’t_ , Finn. I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I hope you find a way to be ok. I hope you continue to fight them with everything you’ve got. I hope you move on and find another amazing person to love. You deserve to, Finn. Please. I hope you get to live out your life in the peace you’ve always dreamed of. And I hope you remember—”

He takes a deep breath, blinks hard, blinks harder, presses his hands into his eyes. “I hope you remember,” he manages at last, hoarse. “Remember that I love you.”

Poe’s hand reaches towards the camera. Dark eyes connect with Finn’s one last time. The message cuts out.

Silence.

[BB-8 ALSO HAS OBJECT TO DELIVER TO FINN.]

The small compartment in BB-8’s side opens, extends. Finn stares at it.

“No,” he says.

BB-8 is silent.

“NO!” Finn shouts.

BB-8’s head lowers with a muted croon.

“ _No,”_ Finn whispers. He reaches a shaking hand out towards the compartment and draws out Poe’s wedding ring, gleaming in the low light of the bunk. He turns it over in his hands, looks at the engravings inside it one more time: a tiny B-wing, engraved when Kes first gave the ring to Shara, and _I REMEMBER_ , engraved when Finn gave the ring to Poe.

It takes Finn several tries to slide it onto his trembling hands, but at last it settles to the base of his little finger. He presses his hands together to feel the warm curve of his own ring between his fingers, imagines he can feel the engravings carving shapes in his own skin. A home, Shara’s promise to Kes to ease the grief of Alderaan. _FOREVER AND EVER,_ Poe’s promise to Finn to ease the impending grief of war.

Finn stares at the two rings, throat aching, face numb.

[BB-8 ALSO HAS OWN MESSAGE FOR FINN.]

In lieu of a comforting hand, BB-8 has decided to try lowering its head to meet an interlocutor instead. This works reasonably well in this instance, so BB-8 concludes that it appears to be an effective method of addressing painful human emotions, if only temporarily. Finn reaches a finger up to stroke the side of BB-8’s domed head, trying and completely failing to smile at the little droid.

[FACT: IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT. EVIDENCE: POE IS AN IDIOTIC NERFHERDING MOOF-MILKING RECKLESS GENIUS WHO LOVES YOU VERY MUCH AND TENDS TO GET HIMSELF OUT OF SHITTY SITUATIONS AS OFTEN AS HE GETS INTO THEM. BB-8 BELIEVES IN POE. YOU BELIEVE IN POE. POE BELIEVES THAT EVERYTHING WILL BE ALL RIGHT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTY IS?]

Finn leans his head against BB-8’s smooth hull and laughs through his tears.

 

 

* * *

 

  

“Thank you for your report, Nerro.”

“Of course, General.”

“What is it that you’re not telling me?”

Nerro’s face doesn’t change.

Leia sighs. “You know that I trust your judgement.”

“Yes, General.”

“Don’t fuck this up.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Leia stares her down.

“I will not.”

“Better.” Leia looks back down at the datapad in her hands. “Whatever it is, it’s not on the official transcription of their conversation, I assume.”

“No. It’s only on our private transcription.”

“Should I have Threepio hack into it and tell me?”

Nerro shrugs. “I trust your judgement.”

“Right.” Leia sighs. “How are things going with Captain Finn?”

Nerro’s lips curve into a crooked grin. “That man does not make idle threats,” is all she says.

Leia smiles, slow and predatory. “Good. Neither do I.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

The lake mocks him with its beauty, as pristine and inviting as it always has been when he’s talked with Poe, argued with Poe, hugged Poe, kissed Poe, gone skinny-dipping with Poe, made love to Poe under cover of a moonless night. Finn spins Poe’s ring around his little finger. Presses it deeper into his flesh to feel its presence. Huddles into himself on the shore of the lake. Looks to the dark-braided pilot by his side, staring empty-eyed across the lake.

“I can’t mourn him again, Jess,” Finn rasps.

“He’s not dead,” she replies fiercely. “Prisoner. That’s all. He’s smart, he’s resourceful, he’s brave. He’ll get himself out of there, you wait and see. Maybe he’ll charm the helmet off another trooper. The whole base. Don’t doubt him.”

“Jess.” Finn turns to her. He appreciates her efforts to cheer him up, but—reality. “It’s Kylo Ren. He doesn’t stand a chance. No more than we did against fucking Hux.”

She swallows. Finn realizes, with an unsteady swoop in his stomach, that the reassurances were meant for her as much as him. “He’s not dead,” she repeats, teeth clenched. She stares out over the lake.

“Not yet.” Finn drops his head onto his knees, hollowed out. A Y-wing bomber roars close overhead, scattering the surface of the lake into fractionated waves. A small flock of brabary birds flees from its wake, tumbled beak over wingtips by the turbulent air before recovering their flightpath. Poe’s face is empty, horribly empty, flickering red and blue in the darkness of deep space, surrounded by white-armored bodies shoving him up the gangplank.

Finn closes his eyes for a moment, nauseated. “It’s my own fault, Jess,” he whispers. “I should have known. I should have made sure they were all absolutely, completely, loyal to us. I should have checked for weaknesses. Blackmail. I should have—”

“You couldn’t have known!” Jess cuts him off. “Finn. It’s not your fault. They sent him the comm just before the mission. It’s not like it was building up. No one knew. No one had any idea. It’s _not your fault_ ,” she repeats, as though saying this for the hundredth time will help any more than it did the first time.

“Why did Poe do it, Jess?” Finn asks, voice cracking with strain. “Why would he have done that? I never asked him to die for me. I never wanted that.”

“Look.” Jess turns to him, eyes red-rimmed. “We’re _pilots._ We all know we’re going down someday. We have to care more about what we die _for_ than how soon we die. Poe—look, he said once that you didn’t want anyone to talk about him dying, but he was always going to, Finn! All of us will. It’s a miracle we’ve all survived as long as we have. We lost half our fleet above Starkiller—” She yanks a stray lock of hair off her forehead, shoves it behind an ear. “This is the best he ever would have hoped for. To know that he was able to save you. And your whole squadron. It’s what he always wanted.”

“ _No_ ,” Finn growls, lifting his head. “It’s _not_. He wanted to live in _peace_. With me. With all of you. We were going to adopt Stormtrooper children. Once the First Order goes down for good. A couple children whose families couldn’t be located. Raise them on a farm on Yavin IV. Go flying to all of the beautiful planets we’ve never seen. Climb trees, and dance, and sleep outside under the stars. _That’s_ what he wanted, Jess. Not this shit. _Never_.”

“That’s not the galaxy we live in, Finn.” Jess’ voice wobbles on its axis. “Look, you’re not—you’re not really a pilot. I mean that in a good way. You fly with us, sure, you’re an amazing squadron leader, the recruits love you, but—but you don’t think the same way we do. About death, and the purpose of our lives. It’s _good_. I’m _glad_ you don’t. In another galaxy, you would have made a fucking incredible senator. Arguing for peace. For safety. But that’s just not the galaxy we live in.”

“Not _yet_.” Finn’s jaw clenches with the effort of fending off tears.

Jess looks up at him for a long moment. “Not yet,” she sighs at last. She props her chin on her fist, looks out at the lake, and nods. “Not yet.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

Finn and what remains of the Freedom Squadron blast their way onto the propaganda station with what might perhaps be classified as excessive firepower, if those firing were not vicariously avenging their lost commander. The captain refuses to surrender, so Onira relieves her of her blaster via a well-aimed shot to her forearm.

Once their reluctant hosts are cuffed in the cargo hold, Finn radios back for the comms team. Major Nerro leads the small crack team on board and heads straight for the communications console. It doesn’t take long for them to figure out how to operate it—it’s almost identical to the model their intel team had pieced together. A recently defected pair of ex-First Order communications officers have been instrumental in improving their knowledge of First Order encryption channel technology. Before long, Nerro’s giving Finn a thumbs-up. He swallows, wipes his palms on his uniform pants, and joins her.

“Ready?” she asks.

Finn stares at her.

Nerro puts a hand on his shoulder, eyes steady on his. “Ready,” she says again.

Finn nods. She presses the glowing silver button by the holoprojector. He steps into the viewfield and bares his teeth at the holocam in a feral grin.

“Comrades,” he says. “Three days ago my squadron and I, all former Stormtroopers, were taken captive by the First Order and sentenced to execution if the Resistance did not return all of the other former Stormtroopers who now fight for freedom. We were prepared to die for our cause, knowing that we’d given our lives in the service of the galaxy. We never dreamed that the Resistance would come to our rescue. But they did. Not only did they refuse to turn in the Stormtroopers who have freed themselves from the First Order, our commander himself gave his life in exchange for ours.” Finn’s voice shakes only slightly.

He fists his hands by his sides and continues. “He did this because to the Resistance, we are _humans_. We are part of a _team_. They watch our six. The First Order will never watch yours. My comrades. You know that the First Order is strong. It is strong because of _us._ Every squadron, together, is stronger than its leaders. If we choose to fight for _each_ _other_ , not the Order, we can protect each other. If we _all_ rise up, _together,_ squadron by squadron, we will be invincible. So talk to your squadron. Find your strength. Rise up for freedom. Any Stormtrooper who chooses to lay down arms will be given free transport to the Outer Rim. And any Stormtrooper who chooses to stand and fight with us will be given full amnesty and the protection of the entire Resistance forces.”

His squadron falls into place behind him, one hand on each chest in the Resistance salute.

“My comrades,” Finn says, eyes locked on the holocam. “The time is _now._ Come join us. Freedom will not wait for you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She finds him huddled under the tarpaulin-covered nose of _Black One_ , knees pulled up to his chest, face buried in his arms. He lifts his eyes at the sound of her gusty sigh as she settles herself down onto the cold duracrete beside him. She pours a glass of Correlian brandy—the bottle’s barely any emptier than when he last saw it—and hands it to him.

Finn shakes his head. “He’s not dead,” he manages, voice ragged.

“No.” Leia nods, taking the glass as her own and setting the bottle aside. “He’s not.” She looks up at the stars for a moment, silent. Finn presses his forehead to his arms once more and tries to make his mind go blank. “You’re working your bones off as though he is, though.”

He looks over at her.

Leia shrugs. “Last time drove you to start the Stormtrooper defection program. This time, you activated a hyperdrive on it. And it’s working, too. Might well win this war for us.” She dips her nose toward the glass and inhales the rich fumes. “Grief is a powerful motivator, isn’t it?”

Finn nods, chest heavy. He presses his fingers to his knees to feel the cold curves of both rings cut into his skin. The silence between them is punctuated at odd intervals by the random chirps and whistles of patrol droids. He closes his eyes and breathes in the duracrete dust, motor oil, and ion engine fumes that permeate the hangar. The smell is familiar, grounding. He can almost imagine—

“The most powerful motivator?” Leia says, gravel-voiced. “Guilt.”

Finn’s eyes snap to hers.

“Whether or not it’s deserved,” she adds.

As with the last time, she drains the tiny glass in precisely three swallows, staring up into the night sky.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Freedom Campaign takes off like it’s been torched with conflagrine-14. The squadron angle works exponentially better than targeting individuals—so much better, in fact, that Finn beats his head against the wall of the situation room one day for not thinking of this years earlier. They could have eliminated the First Order. He could still—be—with—

“Captain Finn?” Finn hurriedly steps away from the wall, one hand to his aching head. Umoka hovers in the doorway of the small intel room he’s commandeered for his office.

“Another transport’s arriving, sir,” she says. Her posture is as perfectly military as always, but her weight’s clearly on the balls of her feet, the Stormtrooper equivalent of jumping up and down.

He smiles to put her at ease. “What is it?”

She relaxes infinitesimally from attention, puts her Resistance persona on again, and grins back. “Guess how many, sir.”

“Twenty.”

She gives him the _look_ he deserves for that. “Try again.”

“Fifty.” It’s the largest transport they’ve received to date, although if she’s this excited he’s definitely still lowballing it.

She grins.

“Seventy?”

Grins wider.

“No _shit_ , Umoka. A hundred?”

“Hundred and seven.”

“What happened to the last three?”

Her lips quirk down.

“Right,” Finn says, and stretches up from his seat. “Ok. Breaking atmo now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s go.”

She pulls him into a quick hug as he passes through the door. Is it so obvious that he needs the boost? Well. Finn hugs her back, just to remind himself that he can. That this is why he fights. For hugs. For children. For names. For the chance to love. They hurry out to the landing bay together, shoulder to shoulder.

 _This_ , he realizes. _This_ is why the Freedom Campaign is lighting up the galaxy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “Eleven,” Rey says. “Point. Seven Five.”

“What?” Jess leans closer to the holocomm. It’s clear that they’re far enough away for the connection to be fuzzy on her end.

“The Kessel Run!” Rey shouts. “Eleven point seven five parsecs!”

“No fucking way!” Jess shouts back.

“Yes fucking way!”

Chewie roars over her shoulder.

“I don’t think we can safely transmit it now, Chewie. But we’ll show you the flightpath when we get back! How are you? What’s going on at the base?”

“Um,” Jess says.

Rey’s hands tighten on the chair. “What?”

“So.”

“Jess. What?”

“Some things happened.”

“ _What?”_

“Finn and the Freedom Squadron were captured by the First Order.”

“ _WHAT?”_ Rey leaps to her feet.

“No no no, they’re back, they’re safe,” Jess assures her, reaching out as though to touch Rey through the holo.

“Then _what happened?”_

“They’re back because Poe made a deal with Kylo Ren,” Jess says, pale and quiet. “To exchange his life for theirs.”

Rey falls back against the seat, mouth open in disbelief. “What?” she shouts at last. “ _WHY?_ We risked our lives to rescue that fucker! Why would he—” Rey stops and puts her head in her hands. “Poe. _Poe._ We have to get him out. Why hasn’t anyone gone to rescue him yet? He’s—”

“It’s Kylo Ren,” Jess says gently. “He’s got an Interdictor. We can’t send the fleet against him. I’m not sure Leia would even be willing to give the order, if he didn’t. And we need you and Luke to kill Snoke. So—”

“You need _Poe!”_

“Yeah.” Jess puts her head in her hands. “ _Yeah_ , we fucking do. But we can’t just go marching in, Rey. He got Finn back. And his whole squadron.”

“Did Leia order him to do it?” Rey asks, voice dangerous.

“No.” Jess’ eyes are overbright in the blue glow of the holo. “He volunteered. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. She finally agreed to it. It _is_ for the good of the Resistance. I think. At least, they seem to think so. But—” Jess drops her head again. She does not finish the sentence.

“How is Finn?” Rey asks at last, very quiet.

Jess looks up at her.

“Never mind,” Rey’s hands clench into fists. “I’m coming home.”

Jess’ entire face lights up. “Oh. Oh, firecat. Oh.” She presses her fingers to her eyes, then looks back up into the holo with a watery smile. “Thank you. _Thank you._ We miss you so much. _I_ miss you. Finn—Finn needs you now. We all do.”

Rey’s jaw tightens. “I’m coming home,” she repeats. “I’m coming home.”

“Firecat.”

“I’m coming home.”

“Rey. Will—you be ok? With Luke.”

“Yes.” Rey straightens her shoulders. “I wasn’t—planning to come back so soon. But he needs me. And he—Jess.” Rey presses her knuckles to her mouth for a moment, eyes burning. “ _He_ is my family. So are you. So is Finn. I—I’ll figure it out. I’ll be ok. It will take us about—Chewie?”

An answering roar sounds from deeper in the ship.

“Two days,” Rey translates for Jess. “To get back to the base. Just—keep him safe until then, ok?”

“Oh, he’s safe.” Jess shakes her head. “He and his Freedom Squadron. They’re tearing up the galaxy.”

“Good.” Rey holds her hand up to the holo, palm out. Jess does the same. They touch through the distance of space. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“I can’t fucking wait. Love you, firecat.”

Rey smiles, watching herself shatter into a pile of shards on the Falcon’s floor. “Love you too, Jess.”

Rey cuts the holocomm and crosses the hold to a viewport to look out at the stars. She can do this. She is coming home for Finn and Jess. Her family. And as for Luke and Leia—she’ll—

“I can do this,” she says.

Chewie roars agreement from the cockpit. Rey picks up each sharp-edged piece of herself and straps them all together with her belt. _I can do this._ As Jess might say, she has no banthafucking clue how, but—she will. Somehow. She will.  

 

 

* * *

 

   
  
Kylo’s waiting for him when he arrives in the _Vengeance_ , black cloak tall boots shining saber blank mask. Poe ignores the hangar, ignores the cuffs on his wrists, ignores the Stormtroopers’ rough shoves. He walks calmly down the gangplank and clicks to a halt before Kylo, chin raised, back erect. It’s a good thing his hands are cuffed behind his back, because no one needs to know that they’re trembling uncontrollably.

“Hello, traitor,” Kylo greets him.

“Your mother sends her best wishes,” Poe replies.

Poe can’t breathe. No surprise there. He waits, tapping his toe on the echoing hangar floor with slow deliberation. Just as his vision is starting to go dark around the edges, Kylo releases him. The inrush of oxygen is almost as intoxicating as the knowledge that he still has the power to bring this masked lunatic to his—metaphorical—knees.

Poe grins at Kylo.

And then he can’t move. Again, not a surprise. Kylo advances, step by lethal step, until he is standing nearly toe-to-toe with the captive pilot. Poe, immobilized, cannot even look away from the chrome ridges of the Darksider’s mask. Kylo’s breath echoes through the vocalizer of his mask. Poe stares up at him, fierce. Kylo stares down at him, eyeplates empty of any expression at all.

He lifts Poe’s chin with a single finger, runs his thumb over Poe’s lips—slowly, lovingly, possessively—and slides the cool leather between Poe’s lips, into his mouth, and over his tongue. Poe can taste the glove. Can’t get Kylo’s hand off his face. Kylo forces Poe’s mouth to close around the finger and suck. In the eerie silence of the hangar, Poe can hear his heart pounding in his temples.

“We are going to have so much fun, you and I,” Kylo murmurs.


	7. this is who i am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: canon-typical Force mind-probe, non-consensual above-the-neck touching, threat of future rape. If you're concerned/curious where this story is going to go, content-wise, don't hesitate to ask! I'm trying to avoid spoilers, but I'm happy to answer any questions you have in the comments or on [tumblr.](http://beautifullights1.tumblr.com)

The blast door hisses open. Poe jerks awake. Kylo Ren enters. The blast door slams shut. Poe slides upright from where he’s been huddling on the durasteel bench in the back of his cell. The energy binders on his wrists and ankles hiss and crackle, snapping to new points on the bench to keep him pinned there.

Poe’s stiff, and sore. He grabs the thought that _he’s getting too damn old to be lying in a cold cell all night_ , stuffs it into a trash compactor, and grins at Kylo. “So, what’s new with you this morning?”

“Sleep well?”

“Accommodations still leave a little—ok, a _lot_ —to be desired, but I’ve had worse. That night in the ice cave on Terelie— _oof_. Woke up with a new icicle about to impale my shoulder. Now _that’s_ something to tell your grandkids. The night you nearly got penetrated by an icicle. Although then they might ask more questions about penetration, and that could lead to some awkward discussions. Well, your granddad, and your other granddad, uh—Maybe not.”

 _Not to mention, of course, the fact that I will now never have grandkids. Um. New topic._ “I’ll tell them about the time I skipped out of a First Order star destroyer with a defecting Stormtrooper, instead. Now _that’s_ a good story. Have you heard that one yet? See, a long time ago, in a galaxy far—”

“Stop talking.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? I—”

“Be silent.” Kylo raises his hand. Poe’s throat stops working. He refuses to gasp, or struggle, so he glares straight at Kylo instead, limbs twitching involuntarily as black spots start to obscure his vision. When Kylo finally releases him, he falls back against the cold wall with a gasp, sucking in air. “Because I can make you be silent,” Kylo continues. “If you speak, it is because I am allowing you to speak. Is that clear?”

Poe stares him down, or he would if he could see his eyes, but blank eyeplates are terribly disconcerting and really not conducive to a good staring contest.

Kylo shakes his head. “You don’t seem to grasp the seriousness of your situation here.”

“What situation?” Poe lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “What, exactly, are we doing here? Torture by boredom? I could get behind this. Much more comfortable than that rig on the Finalizer, that’s for sure.”

Poe shifts in his seat on the durasteel bench, looks down at the blue-crackling arcs of energy around the binders on his wrists and ankles. “I am impressed by how dangerous you think I am, though. Even on the _Obsession_ , they only bothered with handcuffs, at least until I started to throw myself into the walls. And you, you’ve got your little Force-thing, don’t you? You don’t even need me to wear these. So what are they, decorative? I could see you getting into that. I could _really_ see you getting into that, in fact. All that leather. The mask. The imposing demeanor. Or at least, I assume you believe it’s imposing. Really, I’m surprised you’re not better friends with that Hux fellow. I was sure you had both agreed to stick something up your—”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope. Not unless you’ve got something better for me to do. Or if you feel like choking me again, because clearly that’s part of your kink too—no no, it’s ok! I don’t judge—”

“You’re nervous.”

“Yes. I am. That tends to happen when you’re chained up in someone else’s torture dungeon.”

“Oh, I assure you, this is not my torture dungeon. That one smells a lot worse.”

“Not like this one smells any good either. Don’t you ever get bored of sitting in star destroyers all year round? Breathing that recycled air? They never really filter it as well as they promise to. I mean, I love flying like nothing else, don’t get me wrong, but I love coming home, too. Walking in the woods, swimming in the lake…but I guess that would wreck all of that nicely shined leather, wouldn’t it?”

“You really are nervous.”

“Yes, I told you that. Weren’t you listening? Anyway, you’d be able to tell that regardless of how much I talked. I know these things, I’m friends with that—what did you call her? That Jedi-child. That Jedi-child that kicked your ass and gave you what I assume is a scar so horrific that you now actually have a reason to wear that mask—that is, a reason other than—what did you call it? Nervousness? That. The great Knight of Ren, scared someone will think he’s ugly—”

“Master, actually.”

“I _knew_ you get off on it. You’d like me to call you Master? Really? Sorry, nope. Just—nope. That is not something I do. General, Admiral, Major, yes. Master? No. Not a chance.”

“Master of the Knights of Ren, I meant. Although if at some point I decide that you should call me Master, you will call me Master.”

“Not. A. Chance.”

Kylo raises a finger. Poe’s mouth opens against his will. “Master.” The moment he’s freed, he clenches his jaw shut, nauseated.

Kylo leans back in his chair. “You shouldn’t say things like that, you know. You don’t actually have any control over what you will and will not do in here.”

Poe clamps down hard on the coil of fear in his stomach and plows ahead. “Not the same, though, is it? If you have to make someone do all of the talking, does it really have the same appeal?”

Kylo leans forward very slightly. Poe concentrates on not leaning away. “If I wanted you to call me Master, of your own accord, without using the Force to make you speak,” he murmurs, “you would very quickly find it in your best interests to call me Master. Fortunately for you, I do not, in fact, ‘get off’ on it.”

“Then what am I here for? I thought for sure you were in the market for a—”

“No. I do not hold with rape.”

Poe blinks. “You don’t.” The coil of fear turns into fury in a fraction of a heartbeat. “You torture people. You kill civilians. You obliterate planets. You _murdered your own father, for the Force’s sake,_ but you draw the line at rape?”

Kylo tilts his head. “I did not say I believe it is more evil. It’s simply more annoying. Yelling. Struggling. All of that. Holding someone still with the Force requires concentration. If my control were to slip—at a particular moment, perhaps—I would be in an unfortunate position. Far easier to convince a Stormtrooper or an officer to come into my chambers for a debriefing session.” His voice modulates, as though smiling to himself, as though this is the first time anyone has ever made that joke on a military base.

“ _Convince_.”

Kylo shrugs. “No Force necessary. Positions of authority make persuasion much easier.”

“That’s rape, all the same!” Poe shouts. “That’s an abuse of power. You can’t—”

“Do you think anyone would ever willingly sleep with me?” Kylo shoots back, leaning forward onto his elbows. “I could look into their thoughts any time I chose. I could fling them across a room if— _when_ —I became angry with them. I am not a nice person. I do not expect to ever find a willing partner in my bed.”

Poe stares at Kylo, eyes blank. “Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?” he asks at last.

“No.” Kylo leans back again. “I simply wanted to explain why persuasion is the perfect solution for my situation. It’s only prostitution, after all. Both parties are duly rewarded.”

“So are you going to _persuade_ me, now? You’re my jailer, after all. Are you going to decide you feel like abusing this particular power?”

Kylo studied him for a moment. “Not right now.”

“So why did you agree to the deal, then?”

Kylo’s breath huffs out through the metallic grate in a pseudo-laugh. “I’m starting to think you’re upset that I don’t want to rape you now.”

Poe lifts his chin. “Given the options of death, torture, or scraping my mind for information that could hurt the Resistance…rape seems the least awful choice.”

“Hmm.” Kylo thinks about this for a moment. “You know, it’s generally not a good idea to tell your enemy what you would prefer.”

Poe shrugs. “You’d take it out of my mind anyway, if you wanted to know. Little less painful this way.”

Kylo tilts his head, regards him silently.

“And anyway, you’re avoiding the question,” Poe continues. “Why did you agree to the deal?”

“Why would I ever tell you?”

“Kylo.” Poe can feel the cold durasteel of the wall pressing against each vertebra. “Am I going to see anything outside of this room ever again?”

“You might see the torture chamber.”

Poe’s lips curl up to hide the sudden swoop in his stomach. “And?”

“And space. You might see space again. You like space, I’m told.”

“When there’s a cockpit, or at least an evac suit, between me and the abyss.”

Kylo props his chin on his hand.

Poe can almost hear Kylo’s smile. He closes his eyes and leans his head back. “So,” he continues, voice rough. “Why not just tell me? Why did you agree to the deal?”

“You know, I’m inclined to think that the real question is: why do you keep asking me? Do you really think I’ll answer you honestly?”

Poe looks up, raises his hands as far out from the bench as they’ll go—two measly inches—and tunes out the sharp sizzle of the energy binders locking him to the bench. “If I’m never going to be free, or even see a human face again, what other entertainment do I have? Of course I’m going to ask you questions. Lots of them. And snark at you, and laugh in your face, and do whatever comes to mind.”

“Thinking, of course, that I’ll get tired of you and send you out to your happy reunion with the stars.”

“No.” Poe straightens and stares into the eyeplates of Kylo’s mask. “I think you enjoyed breaking me, the first time. I think you’ll enjoy doing it again. I also think that until that point, I’m going to remember that I am still alive, and that I saved my husband’s life, and the lives of his squadron, and gave the Resistance another shot at victory over you sadistic psychopathic fuckers.”

He takes a ragged breath and presses on. “The thing you don’t understand, Kylo. The thing you’ll _never_ understand. It doesn’t matter if you break me. Does it give you some sick, twisted, joy? Fine. _I do not care_. Finn is alive. Free. He will never be FN-2187 again. _Never._ Do you understand? And neither will his squadron. Or any of the seventy-three former Stormtroopers who have joined our cause. Or any of the hundreds of thousands yet to join us.”

Poe’s voice rises, impassioned. “The reason I’m here, Kylo? Not for my pain. Not for your pleasure. I am here for peace. Diversity. Autonomy. Free lives. Safe planets. A galaxy without fear. Do you understand that, Kylo? _Do you understand?”_

Kylo tilts his head, considers him. “Hmm,” he muses at last. “I see.” He nods slowly. “Interesting. I’m starting to think the worst thing to do would be to let you go. Deny you the right to die for your cause. Put the lie to that well-rehearsed show of defiance.”

“It’s not a show, Kylo,” Poe hisses, low and fierce. “That’s another thing you don’t understand. _It’s not a show._ It’s never been a show _._ This is the truth. _This is who I am.”_

Kylo is silent.

And silent.

Still silent.

Poe’s eyes are tight on Kylo’s mask.

“We’ll see how long you feel that way.” Kylo says at last. He stands, turns to leave. Halfway out of the room, he looks back over his shoulder at Poe. “Because you were right about one thing, Dameron: I _will_ enjoy breaking you again.”

The blast door slams shut behind him.

 

 

 

The thing is, Poe wasn’t promoted to Commander for the way his hair looks when he takes off his helmet (although it probably didn’t hurt his case). He knows what tidbits to will be good to let slip into an enemy’s hands. He knows that anyone can be played, as long as the player is desperate and clever and reckless enough to try. And he has never been anything but reckless.

He also knows that there is no way in any galaxy he will ever win against Kylo, locked up here on this bench in the bowels of an Interdictor. It’s a fact, same as the fact that there is no oxygen in the vacuum of space.

Kylo can use the Force. Poe cannot. Simulation over, you lost, try again?

There is no “try again,” not outside of a simulation pod. But there is also no way in any galaxy that Poe will ever go down without a fight. Right now, the only weapon he has is his tongue.

He intends to use it.

 

 

 

Kylo’s chambers are dark, silent, empty. No one else has ever entered. He pulls his cloak tighter around him, sits on the end of his bed, and stares out the port windows at the stars. Through his mask, they are fixed, distant, pinpoints of red.

 

 

 

 _I really hate stun batons,_ Poe thinks to himself as the pair of Stormtroopers drag him out of the cell and down the hallway, still-twitching feet knocking against the reflective tiles. It’s just not fair to not even get the chance to struggle before the restraints lock him into place on the torture rig. Not fair that his limbs still jerk in their bindings, burning, as feeling slowly returns to him. Poe focuses on his rant, counts his breaths, and fixes his eyes at the pinpoint reflection of one tiny light on one of the wall tiles. In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.

Kylo flicks his hand at the Stormtroopers. They leave.

“I was not aware that basic math education was so neglected at the Academy," Kylo drawls. "Didn’t they teach you any numbers beyond five?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Poe shrugs as best he can within the restraints. “They focused more on social skills, like smiling, not hurting others, not striving for galactic domination, that sort of thing. But there’s no age limit, so you could still join if you’d like. I think you might get a lot out of it.”

Kylo regards him in silence for a moment. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me before we get started?”

“I give good head, you know,” Poe muses. “Daaaaaamn good head. Stormtrooper-defecting-level head. Not sure it’ll work on you, but you sure you don’t want to give it a try? It’ll be a lot more fun than this, I can guarantee you.”

“Personally, I’m already finding this highly entertaining.”

“Exactly! That’s because you’ve never—”

“Enough.” Kylo cuts off Poe’s ability to speak with a flicker of his fingers. “Anything else?”

Poe is, of course, silent.

“Excellent.” Kylo lifts a black-gloved hand. “Then let’s begin.”

Poe holds out for five and a half breaths before he begins to scream.

 

 

 

Kylo looks through _everything_ , to no avail. The lock Luke created hides in the back corner of Poe’s mind, silent and completely inaccessible. All he’s got left are memories of Yavin IV, of flying for the Republic, of Finn. Kylo could look through hours of sparring with his fellow pilots if he chose, but that won’t help the First Order, and Kylo knows it. No battle plans. No flight schematics. No classified meetings—not that Poe gets invited to many of those anyway, not being a part of the strategic forces. No passcodes, no security clearances, no essential identification numbers.

Kylo’s assault grows increasingly brutal until Poe’s no longer sure what’s him, what’s Kylo, where the boundaries of his self still are, whether anything still exists between him and the outside world. At last, with a frustrated growl, Kylo unlatches his Force-grip from Poe’s mind and whirls out of the room.

Poe barely registers when Kylo withdraws from his head. He slumps boneless in the restraints, struggling to breathe. He hurts. He hurts so much. Everything hurts. Force. Oh, Force.

But he did not give anything away. The Resistance will be safe. _Finn_ will be safe.

Poe closes his eyes and lets his head sag back against the chair.

 

 

 

A pair of Stormtroopers take him back to his cell for the night, supervised by a very bored Kylo. A brief hose-down, a water pak, and he’s stretching out on the durasteel bench again, quite alone, huddling into himself for warmth.

Fucking binders. Fucking bench. Fucking cell. Fucking walls. He’s trapped. Again. Not in control, not safe, not free. Completely alone. Thousands of parsecs away from everyone he loves.

 _I really thought I was done with this whole getting-captured thing,_ Poe grumbles to himself. _Although, to be fair, this time I wasn’t captured. I turned myself in. That makes a difference. Doesn’t it? Of course it does._

Poe sighs and shifts onto his other side, trying to find a vaguely more comfortable position. _And they only roughed me up a little bit, just for fun._ He touches the bruises and cuts on his cheek, brushes off a couple flecks of dried blood on his forehead. _I’ve gotten much worse in training. And that cantina fight in Nar Shaddaa. Now_ that _was a beating._

_And most importantly, this time I don’t have to be afraid of betraying the Resistance. Really, it’s probably the nicest stint in captivity I’ve ever had. I should start a holo-vid review series. How to get captured in style. What to think about to keep your spirits up. How to toe the line between taunting your guards enough to take your mind off the pain and baiting them so hard that they decide to break you just for fun. What to wear for your imminent execution._

Poe covers his face with his arm, feeling his bravado ebb. Nicest stint, fine, but he’s going to die nonetheless and he’ll never see Finn again and—and he can’t keep thinking like this because he’ll lose it completely and he has to keep it together, he _has_ to. He chose this. Finn is alive. That is all that matters. Maybe he’ll be able to hold on long enough for the Resistance to take down the First Order and spring him free again.

Maybe he’ll float off into space, endless and silent.

Poe closes his eyes. Finn’s sitting next to him on the short benchseat of the two-seater shuttle’s rounded cockpit, strong lines of his body flush against Poe’s. Poe wraps his arms around his lover, cups Finn’s face towards him, and kisses him—soft and sweet, fierce and warm. The lush landscape of Yavin IV opens up before them, green and blue, promising them safe harbor.

 

 

 

Several hours later, Poe’s dragged back to the interrogation room and locked into the torture rig again. He’s busy winding through a podrace, swinging up on his side along the canyon to avoid potshots from a pair of Tusken Raiders, when Kylo enters again. At the blast door’s hiss, he opens his eyes and does his best to straighten up in the chair.  

“Glad you decided to join me for dinner.” Shit, bad opener, he hasn’t been given anything to eat since the prisoner transfer, who knows how many hours or days ago, and he’s starting to get a little dizzy. “What do you think of the decor in this place? Not quite Coruscant, not quite Nar Shaddaa—”

Kylo brings up his hand so fast Poe has no time to breathe before he’s inside again.

 

 

 

_Luke nods at Poe. “Yes. It’s possible. What I would do is lock away your knowledge of the Resistance. He’ll still interrogate you, of course. Probe as much of your mind as he can.”_

_Poe tries and fails to suppress a shudder._

_“But he won’t be able to find anything,” Luke continues. “He might be able to see the lock, but he won’t be able to open it. Only the one who locks it can do that. So—if you find a way to escape, at some point, or if we find a way to rescue you—”_

_“Rescue me.”_

_Luke shrugs. “Stranger things have happened,” is all he says._

_“Do it, then.” Poe fists his hands in his lap. “Please.” He closes his eyes against the sight of Luke’s hand reaching towards his face._

 

 

 

Kylo pulls out of Poe’s head with a vicious roar, steps closer to the torture rig, and looms over Poe.

Poe does not cower beneath him. He’s commanded men far taller than he is for too many years to give any fucks about being short. He learned from the best, after all: the General doesn’t need a height advantage to terrify troublemakers into groveling before her. It’s just another cheap scare tactic, like the mask and the cloak and the black and the gloves, and it’s not going to work on him.

“So that’s your trick,” Kylo muses. “I see. The Jedi locked everything away from me.”

“You must have known,” Poe rasps, blinking sweat out of his eyes, clenching his fists to try to pull himself back together. “They’d never send me in here with everything on display for you to root around in with your grubby little paws.”

“I did know,” Kylo returns mildly. “I believe I’ve said as much, before.”

“Why’d you accept the deal, then?” Poe bites.

Kylo tilts his head at him. “Because if you were so desperate that you were willing to reach out to your worst enemy for help, offering everything you had, you must have been in very deep trouble indeed. Which puts you in an interesting position, one that opens up a myriad of possibilities for me.”

Poe snorts. “And here I thought you were just going to have some fun with me before you killed me.”

“Oh, no,” Kylo murmurs. “I don’t plan to kill you quite yet.” He tilts his head, looks at Poe.  “There are just so many wonderful options. I have not yet decided which one I plan to exploit. But you can rest assured that I will exploit one. At the moment, you’re worth a little bit more to me alive than dead, Poe. The Resistance will always want you back.”

Kylo pauses. Steps back. Leaves the room.

 

 

 

It’s not long before he comes back, of course. Poe’s eyes track Kylo as he enters the room, unable to look away from his hand as it rises towards him.

This time Kylo probes deeper, further, examining every tiny sulcus and gyrus where a memory might hide. Rips through his brain, slicing across memory after memory in his search for something to use against the Resistance.

Poe doesn’t bother pleading for mercy. There will be none. The only thing he can do is steel himself against the pain. He hurts. Everything hurts. It’s getting harder and harder to remember who he is. Instead, he just closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

Eventually, Poe slumps in his bonds, unable to stay conscious during the extended assault. Kylo withdraws with a snarl and reaches for Poe’s head again, about to rouse him—then stops. He sits back down and looks at Poe, silent.

He stares for a long time.

Eventually he rises again, steps closer, and touches Poe’s head. Poe stirs, sighs.

Kylo leaves.

 

 

 

Poe dreams of flying, soaring above the trees of Yavin IV in his mother’s old RZ-1 A-wing. Up, up, up—and he crests a temple, darts down the other side to skim close over the jungle canopy. Points the nose up, takes his hands off the controls for a moment—just because he can.

“Show-off!” Ben shouts in his comm.

“Practicing!” Poe crows. “You want me to be the worst at the Academy?”

“I want you to come _land_ already, while there’s still enough light to climb the temple!”

“Fine, fine,” Poe grumbles. He sets a smooth flightpath back towards home, pulls a quick aileron roll just before lowering his landing gear and settling down onto their cracked duracrete landing bay. Cockpit open, jump out—no ladders needed—and run to shove helmet and flightsuit into their cubby. Quick flick of his curls to put them back in their place—he hasn’t gotten the hang of managing hair underneath helmets yet—and run back out to where Ben waits for him, slumping lazily against a Massassi tree.

“Ready?” Poe grins.

“Going to beat you this time.”

“Been getting stronger at that Jedi school, hmm?”

Ben shrugs. A quick flash in his eyes of that rage that’s always simmering beneath the surface these days. Poe quickly changes the subject. “Race you, then?”

Ben attempts a grin.

Points for effort, right? Poe figures. “Count of three—two—one—” He’s already running before he finished the word. He’ll need all the advantage he can get: Ben’s just getting into his growth spurt now, but he’s already taller than Poe, and the extra height is all leg. Poe knows the way, but Ben can roughly sense the orientation of the temple through the thick jungle undergrowth. They’re neck-and-neck—Ben pulls ahead—Poe grits his teeth and puts on a burst of speed—Ben leaps onto the first step, the highest one and the hardest one to climb—Poe’s got years of experience by now at finding the right handholds to pull himself up to the top of each tier—Ben wastes precious seconds staring at the next imposing block of stone, but eventually gets up the courage to simply _leap_ his way up.

Needless to say, Ben’s at the top at least twelve breaths before Poe is. When he finally crests the summit, Poe cuffs him aside the head, good-natured. “Show-off.”

“Yep.”

Poe laughs. “‘S ok, buddy. Makes up for last time?”

Ben cuts his eyes at him. “Little bit,” he grumbles.

“It’s ok! You guys only visit once every two years, at best. Not enough time to practice the refined art of temple-climbing. Anyway, I’m glad you made it up the last one by yourself this time, because it was hard enough to haul you up then. Not sure I could have managed it this time. There’s a bit more of you than there was two years ago.”

Ben’s eyes flick to his again with a sudden shy light.

Shit. Poe knows that light. He’s seen it in many of his former classmates these days, as he prepares to leave for the Republic Naval Academy. The hair. The grin. The piloting skills. The knowledge that the next time they’ll see him, he’ll wear the crisp lines of a naval cadet. Poe’s had to practice let-down-easy as often as yes-please-let’s.

But—but—but this boy’s got a head of hair too. And eyes, dark as the growing shadows around them. And lips. For one dizzy moment Poe can see himself reaching out, cupping that smooth cheek, drawing him close, kissing—no. No. Too young. Too dangerous. And too—too crazy. Poe blinks. He turns his gaze back to the sunset and pretends to admire it.

“Time to go back,” Ben says, voice tightly controlled. He throws himself off the edge of the highest tier, leaps his way back to the ground.

Poe scrambles down after him. When he jumps down from the last tier, he lands on his feet, lithe, flush with energy. “One of the best sunsets I’ve seen, up there,” he offers, trying to make peace, afraid of what this curious-unpredictable-raging child will do.

“Mmm.” Ben won’t look him in the eye.

“Look, I—”

“I get it. It’s fine.”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s _fine_.” Ben stalks off down the path to Poe’s father’s house.

Poe follows him in silence.

 

 

 

Poe’s eyes blink open. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself: oh. Restraint chair. Interrogation room. Man in a mask.

Shoulders straightened. Chin raised. Grin in place.

“Enjoy watching me sleep?” Poe asks.

“Yes, in fact,” Kylo replies. “You have such interesting dreams.”

Poe’s breath stutters, violated beyond words.

Kylo’s next words are underlaid with a hint of a smirk. “Ready to begin again?”

No? Fuck no? Never? Absolutely not in a thousand millennia? Poe shrugs, at least as much as he can in the restraints. “Unless you’ve decided to take me up on the offer of head. Not going to lie, you’re missing out over there.”

Kylo stretches lazily to his feet and approaches the chair. One hand plays with the folds of his tunic that cover his crotch.

Poe swallows.

Kylo snorts. “If you’re going to bluff, have the courage to back it up.”

“I am completely prepared to go through with it,” Poe responds, icily calm. “And yes, I am afraid. Feeling anything else here would be insane.”

“You’re not afraid when you fly.”

“Actually, I am.” Poe stares up at Kylo’s mask, breathing through the pounding in his temples. “Every battle. It’s what drives me forward. Keeps me sharp. Fear doesn’t stop me.”

“Hmm.” Kylo tilts his head for a moment, looking down at Poe. “Maybe it should have, this time. You’d have lived longer.”

“And Finn wouldn’t have,” Poe responds evenly. “I’m a pilot. I’ve always had a short life expectancy. And I have always wanted to give my life to protect those I love.”

“This must be a dream come true, then.”

Poe shrugs. “More or less, yes.”

“Hmm.” Kylo regards him for a moment. “A wet dream, I suppose.”

Poe’s jaw clenches.

“You have impressive control, you know,” Kylo muses. “I can feel every single layer of emotion as it arrives and passes.” He reaches up to stroke Poe’s temple, slowly, sensually. Poe stares at the far wall. “My fingers don’t feel like his, do they?” Kylo murmurs at his ear. “My voice doesn’t sound like his. Will you close your eyes and imagine that it’s him?”

Poe does not answer.

“I could take away all of your memories of him.”

Poe’s gut curdles, nauseated.

Kylo chuckles to himself. “And…there goes your control. What a heartbeat.” He hums for a moment, gloved fingers sliding to the base of Poe’s neck as he paces around the back of the chair. “Hmm. Yes. That’s a good idea, in fact. I believe I will.”

_NO._

_Please. No. Anything but that._ Poe closes his fists around the words. Kylo steps around to the front of the chair again and peers down at him.

“Are you going to beg?” Kylo murmurs.

 _NEVER._ Poe stares up at him, defiant, murderous.

Kylo lifts a black-gloved hand. “Let’s begin.”


	8. don't take him, please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: threat of rape, non-consensual drug use, non-consensual above-the-neck touching, canon-typical Force mind-probe, mentions of past rape. As always, if you're concerned about potential content, please don't hesitate to ask! I'm happy to answer any questions you have, either on tumblr or in the comments (anon if you prefer).

Poe fights back with everything he’s got, shielding his memories of Finn away from Kylo’s toxic grasp. Kylo digs deeper and deeper into his head, pulls on each little image until it becomes a full vision, flips through the visions like a series of dull holo-dramas, searches for the one that contains the secrets to—the secrets to _what?_

Poe grits his teeth and holds on tight to the chair beneath him, focusing on random innocuous memories to throw Kylo off the trail. But every memory holds Finn—in person, in Poe’s thoughts, in others’ words. He resorts to throwing Kylo all the smaller memories of Finn he can find, trying to protect the most important ones.

 _Don’t take him. Don’t take him. Please._ Poe’s unable to stop himself from begging, desperate and already grieving the loss. Memories of Finn are the only thing he has left. _Please. Please. Don’t take him from me._ Tears are already streaming down his cheeks from the pain.

In the end, it’s the only thought Poe can hold onto. _Please. Don’t take him from me. Please. PLEASE._

In the end, it doesn’t matter how hard he tries to hold on. Kylo will always break him. Always.

 

 

 

_Finn’s eyes are warm on his in the quiet of their bunk. His grin still hasn’t faded. Neither has Poe’s. Laughter still hums between them, effervescent._

_“I do like Jess. A lot,” Rey’s saying. “I really like her. I just don’t—don’t want to—to be with someone. Like that. I’ve never liked it.”_

_Finn’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “You’ve—you’ve had sex, before? I didn’t think—”_

_“Of course I have,” Rey snaps. “Six times. Two men, a woman, an Abednedo, a Teedo, and a Melitto. That’s why I practiced sparring. Hasn’t happened for six years or so now, ever since I got good enough with my staff.”_

_Poe sinks heavily into his chair. Finn falls into the seat beside him and reaches again for his hand. Poe grips it tightly._

 

 

 

_“Have you seen Rey or Jess tonight?” he asks Finn as he slides into an adjacent seat. Rey hasn’t come to dinner that night, nor has Jess. This is not an entirely unusual occurrence, but the serving droids swear neither of them came to pick up something to eat beforehand, and Rey does. not. miss. meals. Ever. More troubling, Luke does not come in either, and the General makes only a brief appearance in the mess hall, brow darkly furrowed, before sweeping back out to the situation room._

_“Was about to ask you the same,” Finn answers. “Something happened in her training this afternoon. I was in the situation room, getting briefed on our next mission, when General Organa did that little—thing she does sometimes.” Finn stares off into space for a moment, hand rising to his chest, to demonstrate._

_Poe looks over at Finn, very serious. “I know that thing,” is all he says._

_“It’s not a good thing,” Finn says._

_“No,” Poe replies. “It’s not.”_

_“I asked her what happened, and she said nothing, it’s fine, of course—”_

_“Yup,” Poe nods._

_“—but I thought if she felt something bad happen through the Force, then Rey probably felt it too, so I commed her, but she didn’t respond, so I asked around, but no one knew where she or Luke were. So then I tried comming Jess, but she didn’t respond either. Rey never has her comm on, but Jess? She’s answered me while she’s having—uh—”_

_A grin flashes across Poe’s face. “Yup.”_

_“Yeah. So why isn’t she answering now?”_

_Poe turns a fork over and over in his fingers. “I don’t know,” he answers at last. “But—look, it can’t be another—you know. Hosnian-level catastrophe, Force be with them. General Organa would have called a meeting, said something about it. If it had tactical significance.”_

_“Exactly.” Finn’s eyes are grim. “Which means that whatever happened, it was personal. And the person it happened to seems to be Rey.”_

_They’re standing at the same time._

_“Lake?” Poe asks. “Rey’s room? Jess’? The clearing?”_

_“All of the above,” Finn answers, hands tightening into fists. “Let’s go.”_

_They tear out of the mess hall, throttles wide open._

 

 

 

_Not in Rey’s room. Nor in Jess’. Nor by the lake. Which leaves the clearing: also empty. But with two trails leading from it in opposite directions: a narrow line of slightly crumpled ferns and a larger swath of destruction, laced with broken-off briars and boot-scarred mosses. Poe and Finn trade a glance, then hurry down the wrecked trail._

_Finn collides into Poe’s back as the pilot stops abruptly at the edge of a tiny clearing, scattered with pine needles and exposed, gnarled roots. Jess is sitting in the middle of the clearing with Rey’s head in her lap, stroking her hair. Rey is curled away from them, but Poe doesn’t need to see her face to know that something is very,_ very _wrong._

_He raises his eyebrows in question at Jess, but Rey’s already sitting up, stiff and hunched. Jess shifts to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Rey leans into her, avoiding their gaze._

_“Is it ok—should we leave?” Poe asks. “We just—we were worried about you. We just wanted to make sure you were ok.”_

_“It’s ok,” Rey murmurs. Her voice scrapes like duracrete. “You can stay.”_

_Poe crouches before them, hands humming with the need to hug her, pat her shoulder, something, anything, but no one touches Rey without her permission. Finn sits beside him._

_It’s several long minutes before Rey sits up fully and looks at them. Shoulders square, voice level, she says, “Master Luke is my father.”_

_Poe’s breath huffs out through his nose, like he’s been punched._

_“What?” Finn gapes at her. “Are—are you sure?” he asks. “How do you know?”_

_“He told me.” Rey’s eyes are rimmed with red. Poe’s not sure he’s ever seen her crying before—no, wait, he has. After Starkiller. When she thought Finn was going to die, and she’d just seen Han die as well. “And I can feel that it’s true.”_

_“That’s—good news, though, isn’t it?” Finn asks, confused. “That means you have a family! You—”_

_“A family that abandoned me!” Rey shouts. “A family that left me to survive on my own, alone and unwanted. That could have come to get me at any time. Any. Time. Sent someone to look after me. But they didn’t. They left me there and never looked back. They were NEVER. COMING. BACK for me. All those years I waited for them. I could have left, could have found a way to make a life somewhere else—I would have stayed there until I died, waiting. For someone who was never going to come. They didn’t even have the guts to_ tell _me, when we finally met again, that I was theirs. Do they—do they not even care? I can’t—” Her voice cuts off, helpless. She shakes her head, choking on tears._

_“Oh, Rey.” Finn reaches out a hand towards her, waits. She leans into his arms, presses her head into his shoulder, and holds on tight. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”_

_“And he was my master.” She lets go of Finn, sits back, puts her head in her hands. “How can I train with him now? What do I do? I can’t stay here any more. I can’t even look at him now without—without—I want to kill him,” she whispers, barely audible. “So badly. I’ve never felt that before. But now—now—I want to hurt him to make up for how badly he’s hurt me. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop being angry.” She crumples back against Jess, sobbing. They huddle around her in the growing dark, silent, aching._

 

 

 

Kylo pulls out with a rush. “Hmm,” he says, looking down at Poe.

Poe closes his eyes, chest heaving, still gasping for air.

“Interesting,” Kylo says at last.

The door hisses shut behind him.

 

 

 

They take him back to his cell. Poe slumps down to the bench, too dizzy to stay upright. There are few places in the galaxy quite as lonely as a prison cell in a star destroyer. He wishes—he just wishes—Finn.

He remembers Finn. _He still remembers Finn._

Kylo didn’t take his memories. Kylo—didn’t—take— _why?_ Poe’s battered mind tries and fails to wrap itself around the idea. Rey. There was something about Rey. Oh, no.

_FUCK._

_FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK—_

He was played. _PLAYED._ He’d thought he was the one manipulating Kylo by goading him towards rape, stoking his jealousy, provoking him to go after his memories of Finn instead of searching for details about the Resistance. Hoping Kylo would find a physical use for him, enough to keep him alive a little longer. Maybe if he hadn’t been so exhausted, so afraid, so worn down—would he have realized that the banthafucking Darksider had a plan of his own? Not that he would ever have had a choice of holding out, with Kylo tearing through his head, but—but still—

Traitor to the Resistance, yet again. _Oh, Rey—_

Poe curls into the tightest ball he can, unable to stop shivering.

 

 

 

He doesn’t even wake up when they come for him. He’s being manhandled back into the interrogation chair by the time he’s aware of his surroundings again. Oh. Here he is. Still in the bowels of a star destroyer. Still at Kylo’s mercy.

 _Force, give me strength. Please. Let me endure this._ Poe’s not sure if he has any more strength of his own to fight with. Kylo knows this. Poe knows that Kylo knows this. There is nothing more that he can do.

Kylo gazes at him for a long time before speaking. “I am going to open the restraints on your left arm. Rest assured that I will know the moment before you try something, and it will not go well for you.”

Poe stares at Kylo, eyes blank. The restraint clicks open. He flexes his sore arm.

“Here.” Kylo leans back in his chair and raises a hand towards Poe. A ration bar floats towards him. Poe stares at it. Is it a trap? Of course it’s a trap. It’s also been two days—three? longer, maybe? who knows—since he last had anything to eat. His mind skips and starts from thought to thought, unable to hold to any idea long enough to make sense of it. Poe looks at Kylo. Kylo looks back at him. The mask reveals no hint of his thoughts.

Finally, Poe takes the ration bar.  He takes slow small bites, trying to prolong the moment, pathetically grateful for the tiny burst of nourishment it provides. Nothing untoward happens. He would relax—except that he’s in the place of his nightmares in front of the man of his nightmares. He’ll probably never relax again. When he’s done, Kylo raises his hand again. A glass of water glides through the air towards Poe. He takes it and drinks.

It only takes him a few sips to notice. It tastes wrong, and not just badly-filtered-star-destroyer-water wrong. Chemical-wrong. Poe spits the water out, hurls the glass away, and glares at Kylo. “What the _fuck_ did you put into that?”

With a lazy flex of his fingers, Kylo halts the glass’ fall before it spills. “That’s on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

“If it’s going into my body,” Poe growls, “ _I_ need to know.” The room is starting to tilt slightly around him. His heart is pounding in his ears. For a moment he’s back on the _Finalizer_ , unable to look away as an interrogation droid injects Bavo Six into his veins.

“Actually,” Kylo murmurs. “You don’t.” He raises his hand. The glass returns to Poe, bobbing in the air by his elbow. “Drink,” Kylo instructs, voice soft.

“No.”

“Would you prefer that I force you to drink it?”

“Why are you doing this?” Poe rasps. “You’ve already gotten what you wanted from me.”

“You’re right,” Kylo nods. “I did.”

“And you said I was too valuable to kill.”

Kylo shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Then what is in it? What are you doing? If you wanted me unconscious, you could have just waved your little hand there.”

Kylo inspects his fingers, one by one. “Not so little, I think. Anyway, that takes so much _focus._ What if my concentration slips?”

Poe stares down at him, silent.

“I would—do it,” he says at last, trying to keep his voice steady. “Whatever you wanted me to do. You don't have to drug me.”

“Yes.” Kylo nods. “You've mentioned that. Frequently.”

“Then _what is in this?”_

Kylo tilts his head. “Count of five.”

“What are you going to do to Rey?”

“Also need-to-know.”

“She’ll never turn.”

“Hmm.” Kylo shrugs. “You may be wrong about that. Four.”

“ _What are you going to do to her?_

“Are you done yet?” Kylo smoothes out the seams on his gloves. “I have a clusterfuck of lieutenants I need to terrorize.” He nods at Poe. “Three.”

“Why did you let me remember Finn?”

“Because if I hadn’t, you’d have picked that glass up and downed it in one gulp. And that would have been horribly dull. Two.”

“You’re a monster,” Poe bites.

“Been told that before,” Kylo shrugs. “Drink it.”

Poe stares down at him.

“One.”

Finn is free. His squadron, too. Poe’s mission is complete. Nothing else matters now. His life, his self, whatever happens to him in here—none of it matters.

_Right?_

Poe picks up the glass with shaking fingers. Raises it towards Kylo, toasts: “To the Resistance.” Tips back the glass.

The water slides down his tongue, laced with something that cuts the back of his throat with a caustic edge. Poe swallows. Swallows again. And again. His stomach turns over and over again, nauseated. His head is spinning. He can’t—he can’t—Poe lowers the glass, still half-full of poison. He can’t do this.

Kylo stretches to his feet and paces towards the prisoner. He lifts a black-gloved hand to Poe’s temple and strokes the sweat-slick hair off his forehead. Poe jerks his head away as far as he can, trapped in the restraints. The movement sends a ripple through his brain, turning the straight lines of the room into gently swirling waves.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers. He presses his still-pinned wrist against the sharp edge of the restraints hard enough to break the skin, fighting to stay conscious.

Kylo traces down the side of Poe’s face. “Drink,” he murmurs.

Poe stares blank-eyed across the room, lost in his own skin. He can’t get Kylo’s fingers off his face. He shakes his head.

Kylo cups his cheek in one gentle leather hand. “Drink.”

Poe closes his eyes. He brings the glass to his mouth, stops. Takes one last slow, shuddering breath. Feels his lungs expand, contract. Opens his mouth. Tips the glass all the way up.

The last sip nearly misses his mouth as the glass tumbles from his numb fingers. Poe’s eyes widen one last time, white-rimmed, as he struggles against the toxin. The glass halts inches from the floor and clinks neatly down onto the tiles. Poe’s eyes flutter shut. His body slumps against the bonds.

There’s a stray drop of water on the corner of Poe’s mouth. Kylo touches a finger to the drop and slides the liquid across Poe’s lips. For a long moment, he admires the way their sheen reflects the cold lights of the interrogation room. At last he flicks the water off his glove and strides out of the room.

 

 

 

They’re only an hour or two away from the base now, and Rey’s skin is starting to buzz with tension. Luke. Leia. Jess. Finn. Family. Abandoned. Jedi. Resistance. None of it makes sense. Circuits? Circuits make sense. She’s therefore doing unnecessary maintenance work on the _Falcon_ late at night, unable to sleep, when the ship’s holocomm crackles to life behind her.

“Hello, Rey,” a familiar metallic voice hails. She spins, heart pounding. Blue lines flicker up and down Kylo’s long form, relaxing against a dark-tiled wall. “So good to see you again. I trust you are well. Because otherwise you would be dead or in the medbay. However, you appear to be having difficulty sleeping, which would be cause for concern if I were concerned about you. Fortunately for both of us, I’m not.”

“What do you _want_ , Kylo?” Rey bites. She steps to face him, hands on her hips. Should she alert Leia that he’s found the Falcon’s holocomm? Shut it off now, before he spreads some malevolent Darkness—but what could he possibly do, at such a remove?

“I merely wanted to show you a beautiful sight to spice up your evening a bit. What do you think of this lovely tableau?” Kylo waves a benevolent hand to the side. The holocam follows his gesture, sliding over to show the top half of Poe’s body, locked hand and foot to a durasteel table.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” The holocam zooms in on Poe’s face—closed eyes bruised and sunken, dark hair matted with sweat, face slack with unconsciousness. “I always thought he looked better like this than in that short-lived holo-poster you lot put up on those back alleys on Hosnian Prime. Restraints and bruises suit him much better than slicked-back hair and an idiotic grin.”

“Why are you showing me this?” The words grind against Rey’s teeth. She resists the urge to wrap her arms around herself and turn away. She will not give him the satisfaction.

“Oh, that’s not what I wanted to show you,” Kylo assures her. “Patience, padawan! That’s just the opening act. The climax is yet to come. You see, this is Poe.” The holocam pans one last time over his weary features, then swivels to the side. “And these are Poe’s pants.”

Suspended by the Force, a pair of pants swings in the air.

Rey’s breath stops for a long moment. The holocam focuses tightly on the pants, bringing each detail into sharp precision. On its way back to Kylo, the holocam slides up Poe’s naked leg from durasteel-bound ankle to upper thigh, just far enough to make its point without revealing everything. Rey finds herself biting down hard on a finger, heart pounding with impotent fury.

Kylo tilts his masked head at her. “Consider this a teaser act of what’s yet to come. You have one standard day to arrive here. If you do not, the next time you see him will be the full show. You have the coordinates for the previous rendezvous. Meet my ship there by the next standard day.”

It takes Rey a moment to regain her voice. “Only if you release him,” she manages at last, hoarse. “Deliver him to the rendezvous point as well, so that he can return to the base. Free. Unharmed. No trackers. No tricks.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. I’ve seen your tricks before. I’m not letting you anywhere near my unfortunately weak-minded Stormtroopers, nor do I plan to accompany him to the rendezvous point in full view of your friends’ ion cannons. No. When you land at the rendezvous asteroid, my forces will provide you with coordinates for my ship. Keep in mind that it’s an Interdictor, so…aerial assaults will not end well for your bloodgnats. The pilot can fly himself back in your ship, or you can bring an extra for him—I don’t care.”

“Why would I trust you not to just kill us both on sight?”

“Because I have no interest in killing you. You know why I want you.”

“Then you ought to know I’d never turn.”

“We’ll see.” Kylo’s smirk is clear, even beneath the mask. “And don’t worry about the pilot. You’d never stay with me willingly if I reneged on the deal, would you? I have no interest in playing jailer to a Force-user. It’s far too tiring. I will release him freely, no trackers, just as promised. In return, you will stay with me for one standard month. At the end of the month, you may choose to stay with me and train as my Apprentice, or return home to your…friends.”

The holocam slides lazily back over to Poe’s face. Rey can’t look away. Golden skin drapes over still cheeks, lacerated and abused. She thinks of the muffled sound Finn would make upon seeing him like this. The way his hand would reach out to Poe, as though he could take away the pain. She feels rough sand on her back, bruises on her wrists.

“Think about it,” Kylo purrs. “I will contact you again one standard day from now. Oh, and don’t worry: with the First Order’s best encryption team working on this line, you won’t be able to get any information from analyzing the record of this call. Unfortunately, of course, that also means I can’t get your location. So you can sleep soundly…except you already weren’t…and after this call you definitely won’t. So sorry about that. Or not. Anyway. Tune back in this time tomorrow for the main event. Bring bang-corn and a comfy chair. I’ve got ten of my most virile troopers lined up to do the job. Should be an enjoyable evening. For me, at least. And the troopers. Any questions? No? Great.”

Kylo looks over at Poe, then back to the holocam. “Good talk. We should do this more often. Or not. You’re not a great conversationalist, do you know that? That’s ok, I’ll talk for both of us. Good night. Sleep tight. Or not. Ten credits on ‘not.’ Actually, make that fifty. See you tomorrow night. Bye.”

The holo cuts off. Rey sinks to the ground and buries her head in her knees. _Fuck. Oh, fuck._

As Jess would say: _oh holy fucking rancorspawned banthashit._

Rey presses her legs a little closer together.


	9. what did you do to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: mentions of past rape, threat of rape

“I can’t take sides in this.” Finn’s eyes are haunted. “I can’t—I can’t _choose_ between you two, are you crazy? I—just—I trust you, Rey.” His voice cracks. “Ok? Whatever you decide. I—I can’t—”

“ _Ok_ , Finn.” Rey wraps gentle arms around his shoulders and hugs him tight. “Ok. I’m so sorry.”

Finn’s arms close around her. He stares over her shoulder at nothing, seeing—seeing—

_Poe. Rey._

_Rey. Poe._

Please, Force. _PLEASE._  

 

 

 

“Absolutely not,” Leia snaps. “Rey. He’s manipulating you. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know he’s manipulating me!” Rey paces down the length of the control room, whirls, paces back. “I’m not stupid! But I have to go. I can’t let him—”

“He knows your weaknesses, and he’s preying on them. You can’t let him win.”

“Love for friends is not a weakness.” Rey plants her feet beneath her shoulders, jaw clenched tight.

“It’s a _trap_.”

“You spend too much time around Ackbar, you know that?”

“Rey. Listen—”

“No! You listen! He’s going to—” She can’t finish the sentence. “I have to do it,” she manages at last, voice ragged. “I have to. If Poe is—is hurt because of me—”

“Not because of _you!”_ Jess argues. “Because of that fucking huttspawn Kylo Ren!”

“But if I was the one who could have prevented it from happening—”

Leia puts out a hand to stop Rey in her tracks. “Poe knew what he was getting himself into. He chose this. He is prepared to face the consequences.”

“I _can’t_.” Rey’s voice scrapes. “Not when he’s rubbed it in my face like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

“You won’t live, period, if you do!” Jess shouts at her. “That ship’s an Interdictor. There will be no escape! No rescue. If he decides to kill you—”

“He won’t.”

“Rey—”

“He could have killed both me and Finn on Starkiller, Jess. He _didn’t_. He could have—hurt me there, too. When he had me captive. He didn’t do that either. That’s not his game. He wants to train me in the Dark side. So I will go, and I will let him teach me what he wants, and then I will return.”

“Even if he doesn’t try to kill you, you will still not be safe,” comes Luke’s quiet voice, from a dark corner of the control room.

“I am quite sure I will not be safe,” Rey agrees, turning to face him. “But these past two years are the only years I’ve ever felt safe.” She looks away from his grief.

“He can’t be trusted,” Luke argues.

“ _You can’t be trusted!”_ Rey shouts. She puts a hand to her mouth, already regretting the outburst, but the words spill out regardless. “ _Luke_. You lost your right to be a father when you abandoned me. You lost your right to be my Master when you lied to me.”

“I never lied—”

“By omission, fine! Same outcome.” Rey turns to Leia, ignoring the general’s stricken eyes. “Leia. I never signed on to the Resistance. Not formally. You have no claim over me. Not of family, nor of general. I have decided to do this. And I will not be turned. _I. Am. Not. Ben.”_ She turns around the room, stares each of them down in turn. “You abandoned me because you were afraid I would turn Dark, like him. I never would have. And I never will. And you will just have to trust me on that. Trust me, like I wanted to trust you.” She drags in a ragged breath.

“Rey.” Jess takes her by the shoulders and leans in. “You know this is a terrible idea.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then why the kriffing huttspawn are you doing it?”

“Because the alternative is worse,” Rey answers quietly.

“Poe made a choice—”

“And now I am making mine.”

“Look.” Jess’ voice softens. She pulls Rey in for a hug, leans her head on her shoulder. “I know how much this means to you—”

“No.” Rey pulls away, voice hard. “You don’t, Jess. You have _no idea_ what this means to me! You’ve never—”

“ _Rey_. Rey, I’m sorry.” Jess wraps her arms around her own chest to resist the overwhelming urge to pull Rey in for another hug. “I know I haven’t. It’s—”

“No.” Rey covers her face with her hands, horrified. “No. _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Jess, I—”

“This is what he’ll do to you.” Luke steps forward, eyes intent on Rey. “Use your weaknesses against you. Twist your mind. Turn you away from us, to the Dark side.”

“You _can’t go_ , Rey,” Jess pleads. “It’s too dangerous.”

“He won’t turn me.” Rey uncovers her face and takes Jess’ hands, centered again. “He’ll never turn me.”

“You can’t know that,” Luke presses.

“You did.” Rey whirls on him. “You faced Vader because you knew you would never turn. Let me do the same now. You told me I have to face Kylo in order to become a true Jedi.”

“When you’re _ready_ , Rey!”

“I am ready!”

“You’re not! Rey. If you go now, when you’re still in turmoil over—”

“Over _what,_ Luke?” Rey growls.

“Please don’t leave like this, Rey. Let’s talk. Figure this out.”

Rey lifts her chin and stares him down, brittle. “I’m coming back. You’ll just have to trust me on that. The way I trusted you. Maybe I’ll be more faithful than you were.” She turns to Jess. “I’m leaving, now. So I can arrive in time to stop Kylo.”

“Rey.” Jess’ eyes are steady on hers, dark and sad and full of dread. “This isn’t like you.”

“No.” Rey puts her hands on Jess’ shoulders. “It’s not. But I’m still here. I’ll be myself again, when I can. I’ll figure this out.”

“He’ll try to turn you—”

“I _know_ ,” Rey snaps. “I'm not going to fucking turn! I have you. And Finn. And Poe. And my own center, in the Force. I love you all too deeply to let any harm come to you. I _promise_ you, Jess. I know who I am. And I will not turn to the Dark side.”

“If you do,” Jess threatens, “I will drag you back to Jakku kicking and screaming and haul your sorry ass across the desert until you see the Light again.”

Rey grins. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You think I’m kidding—”

“Oh, no,” Rey presses one hand over her mouth to cover her laugh. “I know you’re not kidding. Look.” Rey raises her right hand in a Resistance salute. “I am going to come back to you,” she swears, eyes tight on Jess’. “No matter what happens out there. _I am going to come back to you._ And if I don’t,” she adds, “you have my full consent to drag my sorry ass anywhere it needs dragging. Clear?”

Jess looks at her for a long moment. “Clear,” she nods at last.

“Good.” Rey takes Jess’ hands in both of hers again and kisses them. “I’m _sorry_ , Jess.” Her voice cracks. “I have to. You know I—”

“I know. I _know_ , firecat.” Jess’ voice slips lower, the way it always does when she’s trying hard not to cry. “Just please— _please_ come back.”

Rey holds her tighter, making a star system of silent promises she may not be able to keep.

 

 

 

When she leaves the control room, Finn leaps to his feet from where he’s been sitting against the wall, huddled into himself. He doesn’t say a word—just stares at her, eyes wide and wounded and desperate.

“I’m going,” Rey says.

There’s a little choked sound in his throat and then he’s hugging her, with only the barest fraction of a warning before she lets him touch her. His face is doing everything at once—fear and longing and hope and despair and grief. His hands shake on her spine. She’s overwhelmed, for a moment, by the crazy mess of his Force-signature. “Come back,” he rasps at last, when he regains the power of speech. “Oh, Rey. Thank you— _thank you._ But—come back, ok? You have to come back. Don’t let him—”

“I won’t,” Rey promises. “I’ll get Poe back safely. And then I’ll come back, with Ren.”

“You’re delusional,” Finn croaks. “You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Rey hugs him tighter. “I’ve always been. It’s why I’m still alive.”

“Oh, Rey.” Finn ducks his head to her shoulder, eyes stinging. “Come back,” is all he can say. “Come back to us.”

“I think I’ll have to, if only so you’ll all say something else to me for a change,” Rey retorts. She leans back, lips twitching against a grin. “You—just—don’t do anything stupid. Ok?”

“I think you’re better off telling Poe that.”

“Yes. Well. You too, ok? Take care of yourself.”

“I will. Rey—” Finn steps back, holds her at arm’s length. “Thank you,” is all he says. “ _Thank_ you."

“Of course.” Rey ducks out of his grasp with a smile, whacks his arm for luck, and trots down the hall towards the hangar.

Finn looks back at Jess, standing behind him with her arms folded across her chest.

“Don’t,” she says. “Whatever you were going to say. Just—don’t.” She shoves past Finn, jaw tight. “You're right. She is fucking delusional.”

Finn hurries after her, boots echoing in the small corridor. “She’s also survived everything the world’s ever thrown at her.”

Jess whirls on him with a glare. “So have you. Plan to go throw yourself at that banthafucker again anytime soon?”

“ _Fuck_ no.” Finn shudders.

“Well.” Jess resumes her rapid march to the hangar. “That’s because you have common sense. Both Poe and Rey appear to be missing that particular line of code.”

“You’ve been accused of the same, you know. Several times.”

“This is true,” Jess nods. “But even I have some fucking standards.” The hangar opens up before them, wide and eerie in the early-morning hush. Rey’s already walking beside a pair of unmarked X-wings as a pair of mech droids wheel them out. They follow behind the ships, squinting into the pre-dawn light of the landing bay.

“Look, Finn,” Jess says at last. She looks up at him, one nail between her teeth. “I think she might be able to do it. I don’t think _I_ can survive the wait.”

“Same way you always do, when she’s gone.”

Jess snorts. “Not enough fucking alcohol in the galaxy for knowing she’s at Ren’s mercy.”

 

 

 

The ships are prepped, the landing bay is clear, BB-8 and a spare astro are ready for the ride. The time has come. Now. She’s leaving. She will be ok. Everything will be ok. She will come back.

Rey pulls Jess into a tight embrace and nestles her face in the dark fuzz at the base of her girlfriend’s neck—all the hairs too short to reach her tight braid. She inhales deeply to pull Jess’ scent into her bones: cinnamon soap, hot durasteel, engine grease, and rain. She leans into the hug as close as she can, toes and knees and hips and breasts and shoulders all warmed with the other’s heat.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Jess leans back to cup Rey’s face in her hands, dark almond eyes steady on hers. Come interrogation droids or marauding rancors, she will never, _ever_ admit how much it shakes her to hear Rey admit fear. “I know, firecat.” Her thumbs brush against Rey’s cheekbones. “And I know you can do this.”

Rey nods, swallows, nods again. “I can do this.” Inhale, exhale. “I can do this.” She leans down to press one last warm, fierce, kiss to Jess’ lips.

Jess kisses her back with everything she has. When they break apart at last, she slides her hands to the back of Rey’s neck and holds her still. “One month. Just one standard month. Then you’ll be back here with all of us, safe and sound and Light as ever.”

“One month is long enough for you to learn thirty-five new hairstyles to try on me.”

Jess plasters on the largest grin she can find and throws her a salute. “Ma’am, yes ma’am!”

Rey steps back, eyes not leaving Jess’. “I’ll visit you in our dreams.”

“I’ll be the one wearing a golden bikini.”

Rey snorts. “Good. After spending a day with a psychopathic homicidal maniac, I’ll need a good dream.”

“Damn straight,” Jess grins.

They stare at each other, silent, until BB-8’s whistle summons them back to reality. “Right. Um.” Rey puts her helmet on, visor up. “Right. I need to go.”

Her eyes flit for a moment to Luke and Leia, standing on the edge of her landing pad. She nods at them, unsure what to say.

Leia raises a hand in farewell. “May the Force be with you.” Luke, Jess, and Finn echo her words.

Rey nods again, refusing to cry. “And with you.” She swallows. One deep breath, and she springs aboard the X-wing and slides into the open cockpit.

“Show-off!” Jess calls from the ground.

“Only for you!” Rey calls back, grinning.

“Don’t know why I even bother putting a ladder in place,” Jess grumbles. She shoves the durasteel rungs aside, then steps back by Finn’s side and watches Rey lift up into the air.

Pre-flight checks, start-up sequence, contact, ignition, takeoff, sky, clouds, atmo, stars, hyperspace. Rey closes her eyes, sinks into the Force, and finds her bright center.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Major Nerro bursts into Leia’s office, stricken. “General Organa. Tell me it’s not true. Rey didn’t—I saw the recording of the transmission—”

“It is true, Major.”

“General.” Nerro stands at attention before Leia's desk. “I have a confession to make.”

Leia looks her up and down. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well.” Leia nods at her. “Report.”

Nerro takes a breath. “Commander Dameron knew that sexual assault was part of the deal with Ren.”

Leia’s brows climb up to her hairline.

“He offered,” Nerro continues. “Ren did not seem inclined to accept the deal until Dameron mentioned that Ren had…apparently had a crush on him when he was younger. Dameron implied that the free use of his body was part of the bargain. Not,” she adds, ”that any limits were going to be part of the bargain anyway. But. He offered it specifically.”

Leia folds her hands atop her desk. “There is, of course,” she says, “an excellent reason you did not bring this to my attention at the time.”

“Dameron requested that my team and I keep it private. He was—ashamed of it. Keeping it quiet seemed the least I could do to preserve his memory. It did not seem to be of strategical significance.”

“This is _war,_ Nerro. You know damn well that _everything_ is of strategical significance.”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Nerro stares down at Leia, impassive.

“Mmm.” Leia purses her lips. “Do you think,” she says at last, “that he has already taken Dameron up on that particular part of the bargain.”

“Impossible to say, ma’am.”

“Right.” Leia’s expression does not change. “Who else knows about this?”

“Only myself and the members of the comms-intel team who were on the shuttle when we contacted Ren.”

Leia nods. “It’s too late now, you know. She’ll already be in hyperspace by now, comms-dark until she’s in range of the Interdictor.”

“I know that, ma’am. If I’d known about Ren’s transmission, I would have told you about their agreement and tried to stop Rey from leaving.” Nerro bows her head. “General Organa. I am so sorry. If I’d had any idea that Ren’s objective was to trap Rey, I’d never have let Poe do it.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” Leia says, very dry. “It was mine.”

Nerro looks up again at Leia. Her mouth opens, closes. “You,” she starts, then stops. “You knew Ren was after her.”

“Yes.”

“And you let Dameron do it? You _deliberately put her in danger?”_ Nerro’s voice rises despite herself.

“Yes.” Leia leans back in her chair. “I let him do it. I do not believe that I put her in danger.”

Nerro’s jaw tightens.

“Nerro. I know Rey. And I know my son. I believe she can do it. I believe he can, as well. Keeping Rey coddled here will only increase her desire to test herself against Ren. I do not believe—” Leia clears her throat. “I do not believe that Rey can fall to the Dark side. Not permanently. She’s too much like Luke. Not like Ben was, when he was young, already full of Darkness and anger.”

“Do you think she can do it?”

Leia looks down at her fingers, pensive. “I think if anyone can do it, Rey can,” she answers at last.

“You really believe there is still good in him. That there’s a chance he can turn back to us.”

Leia’s eyes harden almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” is all she says.

Nerro’s silent for a long moment. “General,” she says at last. “Your son.”

“I know what he’s done.” Leia meets Nerro’s stare, and holds it. “I also know what he is, and what he is capable of. What Rey is, as well. And what I—” She’s silent for a moment. “Get me absolutely blind drunk some night and ask me about him.”

Nerro snorts, despite herself. “You never get drunk. You drink for Alderaan, Han, and Ben, and then you’re done.”

Leia smiles at her. “See, this is precisely why you are my chief intelligence officer. Excellent observational skills.“ She settles back into her chair, fingers entwined before her. “However, the question remains: why are you telling me this now?”

“I came to tell you,” Nerro says, “that Yeir’wa cracked the encryption on Ren’s transmission.”

Leia’s eyes flash up to hers, large and dark. For a moment her mouth moves, wordless. Finally she swallows. “You have his coordinates.”

Nerro nods. “He’s in a star destroyer, so he may well have moved on from that point. I don’t know what coordinates his people gave Rey when she landed on the asteroid. It’s out of an X-wing’s comms-range from here.”

“Right.”

“And he’s in an Interdictor,” Nerro adds, very gentle. “So, unless you’re willing to risk the entire fleet to take it down—”

“No.” Leia shakes her head. “Do you think it’s possible that he has our coordinates?”

“No,” Nerro watches Leia’s face carefully. “He guarded against finding ours better than he guarded against us finding his.”

Leia stares down at her desk, expression frozen. “He must feel invincible, in an Interdictor. He knows we don’t have the firepower to waste on shooting him down.”

“If we had the coordinates for Snoke’s ship, you wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him down.”

Leia stares across the room. “No,” she says at last. “I wouldn’t.”

Nerro nods. “Maybe it was a test.”

Leia’s eyes flash up to hers. “Do you think we passed,” she asks, voice level.

“I think you may be right about Rey’s chances.”

Leia’s lips twitch up into a half-smirk. “I’m usually right,” is all she says.

“I know.” Nerro’s smug smile matches Leia’s. “That’s why I enjoy my job.”

Leia snorts and turns back to her datapad. “Is there anything else you needed?” she asks.

“No, General.”

“Good.” Leia waves a hand at her in dismissal. “Report back for the morning briefing.”

“You’ve eaten breakfast, I assume.”

“Of course I have.”

Nerro smirks. “I’ll tell Threepio to bring over some toast and caf.”

Leia glares at her. “Good _bye_ , Major.”

Nerro salutes and turns to leave. Before her hand can lift to open the door, however, Leia’s quiet voice cuts across the small, dark office. “It’s not just Dameron you wanted to protect,” she says.

Nerro stills. “No, ma’am.”

“They know damn well he’s done plenty of harm in the galaxy. You really think a bit more will hurt my credibility?”

Nerro looks back at her, silent. “It’s rape,” she says at last. “And Dameron. People have strong feelings about these things.”

Leia’s eyes bore into hers. Finally she nods. “Thank you.”

Nerro smiles “You’re welcome, General.” She closes the door behind her as she leaves.

  

 

* * *

 

 

“What did you do to Rey?” Poe slurs, forcing himself back to consciousness.

“Irrelevant.” Kylo lounges in the entrance as a quartet of Stormtroopers stun him into immobility, open his restraints, and drag him out of the room.

 _What did you do to me?_ is the other pertinent question, but no answers are forthcoming. He doesn’t _feel_ any different. Surely he would notice if—

If.

But he doesn’t. His body feels fine. His head feels fine. Sluggish, yes. Stunned, yes. And everything still hurts. But nothing hurts any more than it used to, so—so maybe he’s fine? He’ll never know, either way. But—wait. Wait.

The troopers are hauling him straight past the torture room.

_Where are they taking me?_

 

 

 

 _I really, really, really hate stun batons._ Poe focuses on this thought to distract himself from the fact that he is not, in fact, being dragged into the torture room again. He isn’t sure where he is, and he lost track of their path several twists and turns ago, but—he can tell they’re heading up. and out. And that means either some horrible room he’s not even heard about yet, or the bridge to watch his comrades fall to the destroyer’s ion cannons, or—  

_Never thought I’d be wishing for the torture room._

When they round the last turn and drag his still-numb body through a heavy set of blast doors, he’s not surprised to see the hangar’s vast expanse opening up before him.

Space.

Poe thinks about six months on the _Obsession_ , straining against his bonds until he couldn’t anymore, knowing that he was killing his friends, wanting nothing more than to die. But then he’d been rescued, allowed to return home—to friends, safety, love. He hasn’t been made to kill his comrades now. He has no reason to want to die, and every reason to want to live. And he won’t be rescued now. Not from an Interdictor.

No, this is the last drop.

But at least they haven’t come on a doomed rescue mission. And at least Rey hasn’t stepped into whatever trap Kylo tried to set for her. No one else will pay for his failure to protect them. Poe’s stomach drops in a tight aileron, spiraling towards a crash landing he won’t survive.

_Mamá. Papá. I’m coming._

Poe clenches his bound hands together and stares out at the stars.

 

 

 

He’s not kept waiting long. Kylo sweeps out into the hangar and halts by his side, a few meters away. “Ah.” The deep echo of his vocalizer grates against Poe’s ears. “There they are.”

_No. No! Don’t try a rescue. You’ll never escape—_

Two X-wings approach. Neither is painted Resistance colors—an undercover mission? Does the general really think that will help anything? The ships draw near, land.

 

 

 

The hangar gleams, vast and cold, before Rey’s rapidly approaching X-wing. She slides in for a quick landing in the vast, reflective space, _not_ thinking about how loudly her heart was pounding when she scaled the hangar walls on Starkiller, thank you very much. BB-8 lands the spare X-wing next to her, chittering rapidly in her comm about the many different ways he could attack the Stormtroopers now swarming their two ships.

Rey hops down from the ship as easily as she jumped into it, motioning to BB-8 to stay in his ship. Back erect, she strides across the hangar. Her eyes jump to Poe first, sweep up and down.

 _“Rey?”_ Poe stares at her, stricken. _“NO!_ Get out of here! Go! Don’t—it’s a _trap_ , Rey—”

“Poe,” Rey interrupts urgently. “Are you all right?” Standing on his own power. The same bruises and lacerations that she’d seen in the holocomm still mark his face and neck. No major injuries are visible.

Not all wounds are visible.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Poe croaks.

“She is my guest,” Kylo croons.

Rey’s jaw clenches. Her eyes do not leave Poe. “Poe,” she asks again, softly. “Are you all right?” _If he has raped Poe she will kill him right now._

“Rey, I’m—I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come. What are you—”

“She has agreed to take your place.” Kylo’s voice glides smoothly over the black and white tableau.

“ _What?_ No! Rey, we need you. _They_ need you. This is a _trap._ You shouldn’t have come here! What are you—” He grinds his teeth, furious, as his voice cuts off. He _fucking hates the fucking Force—_ with a flick of Rey’s fingers, he can breathe again.

“Leave him alone!” Rey snaps. “Poe. Go to the ship. Please.”

“Or you could stay. The more the merrier, right? But if the girl leaves now, you can be sure she will not make it beyond our scopes.”

Poe glares furiously at Kylo. “You fucking—”

“Poe.”

“ _NO._ Rey. You can’t do this. Please. They’re counting on you.”

“Delightful as this chat is,” Kylo drawls, “I’m not inclined to let two known enemies rattle their comms in my hangar. Run along, flyboy. Get to your ship.”

“It will be ok, Poe.”

“Count of three…no, let’s just move along, now.”

Poe’s feet move forward without his control. He twists back, top half still free of Kylo’s control. “Rey—”

She stares back at him, silent.

The ladder descends from the side of the spare X-wing. As Poe’s body climbs it, the restraints drop from his wrists. He refuses to give Kylo the satisfaction of rubbing them. He slides into the seat— _home home home oh fuck—_ and looks out at Rey _._

For all her fierceness, she’s tiny next to Kylo, dwarfed by the echoing hangar. Poe’s heart skips a beat at the sight. But Rey stands straight, unfazed. Raises one hand in farewell. “Force be with you, Poe.”

What else can he possibly do? He’s a pawn in their Force-games. _“_ And with you,” he echoes at last, heartsick for her. Rey’s hand flicks down. The cockpit follows her command.

Start-up sequence, contact, ignition, takeoff. Poe eases the X-wing around and points its nose at the hangar entrance.

As the ship soars out towards the glowing hangar shields, Kylo waves farewell with a lazy flex of his fingers. Rey watches Poe leave. Kylo turns to her.

“Greetings, scavenger. Where shall we begin?”

 

 

* * *

 

  

“State your name.”

[POE DAMERON]

“Transmit your security clearance.”

[TRANSMITTING]

“Copy that. Cleared to land in bay 43.”

 

 

 

“Finn!” The flight control tech races across the sparring courts and skids to a halt in front of him, breathless. “Poe’s back! He’s landing now.”

“Oh, thank the Force!” Finn drops his gear without a second glance and runs after the control tech. “How is he? Is he ok? Is Rey?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. BB-8 transmitted everything for him.”

“He— _what?”_ Finn stumbles, stops short. “What do you mean, he didn’t say anything? Why wouldn’t he—oh, fuck. Fuck. _Fuck!”_ He takes off again, heedless of obstacles like passing droids and a gaggle of new trainees. Hearing the control tech on his heels, he yells over his shoulder, “Get medical! Now!”

A team of medics dash out onto the landing bay seconds after Finn, racing towards the ship with a hovergurney. Finn shoves a ladder up against the smooth sides of the unmarked X-wing just as the cockpit opens and Poe hops out onto the ladder.

_Wait, what?_

“Poe!” Finn reaches up to him to give him a hand down the rest of the ladder, but it’s clear to him that he needs to reach out to Poe far more than Poe needs any help with the ladder. “Thank the Force you’re back.” His voice shakes. “Are you ok? What happened in there?”

“I belong to Kylo Ren.” Poe ignores the hand and jumps easily down onto the landing bay with no sign of major injury. Bruises and lacerations on his face, same as the holotransmission, but—nothing more. Nothing visible, that is. 

“…what?” Finn asks, dazed. He takes Poe’s shoulders, holds him at arm’s length, peers at his face. “Poe? What do you mean?”

“I belong to Kylo Ren.” Poe stares at the ground, eyes blank and slightly unfocused. He gives the words no more inflection than an obsolete protocol droid.

“No!” Finn shakes him gently, stomach clenching. “Of course you don’t. You’re back now! You’re free!”

Poe does not respond.

“Poe.” Finn bites the words out. “What. Do. You. MEAN, you fucking belong to Kylo Ren?”

“I belong to Kylo Ren.”

[ONLY ANSWER FOR ANY QUESTION] BB-8 thuds onto the ground and rolls swiftly towards them. [FRIEND-POE WILL NOT SAY ANYTHING ELSE]

Finn looks at BB-8, at Poe, at BB-8, back at Poe. “Poe!” he whispers urgently. “It’s ok now. You’re not his. You could _never_ be his. You’re a free man, you’re a commander, _you’re my fucking husband look me in the EYES, you fucker_ — _POE!"_ Finn grabs him into a fierce hug, voice breaking. “ _Poe_. Please. Say something, _look_ at me, come back, _please tell me you’re still in there_. Oh, Poe. What did he do to you?”

“I belong to Kylo Ren.”

Finn cups Poe’s face between shaking hands. “No,” he growls. “ _No_. You don’t. You never have. You never will. You belong to _yourself_ , Poe, and you’re safe now. You’re going to be ok. We’re going to figure this out, and—and then we’re going to fix this. Whatever this is. _Poe_.” Finn wraps his arms around Poe again as though he can will Poe back to himself through touch alone. “Oh, Poe. What did he—no. That was _not_ a question. We’re not asking you any more questions, you hear?” Finn glares over at the medics.

The lead medic raises green-gloved hands in surrender. “Copy that, Finn. Let us check him for injuries now? Then we’ll get him inside and figure out what happened.”

Finn reluctantly lets go, steps back, and watches the medics run gentle hands over Poe for an initial triage. A touch on his shoulder—he whirls around. Jess’ eyes are large and dark and full of—oh, fuck. Jess isn’t scared. Of anything. She just isn’t. It’s why she and Rey get along so well. Wary, yes, mistrustful, sure, but scared?

“He’s going to be fine, Jess,” Finn says.

Jess doesn’t bother pointing out that he doesn’t even sound like he believes it himself. She wraps her arms around her body and leans against him. He can feel the fine vibrations running up and down her body—or maybe that’s his own shivering, who knows. Finn’s stomach clenches again as they follow the medics back into the base.

He can’t look away from Poe, dark curls gold skin deep eyes staring down at nothing.


	10. don't leave me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tu žinai žodžius,_   
>  _jie nuo tavęs bėga..._   
>  _Tu žinai žodžius,_   
>  _Jie tave kankina._   
>  _Einam prisigert_   
>  _Pas mane_
> 
> You know the words,  
> they run from you…  
> You know the words,  
> They torment you.  
> Let's go get drunk  
> At my place  
> — _[Lijo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4VmuuGKjck)_ (Arlina Orlova)
> 
>  
> 
> ***TW: drunkenness

Finn sits next to Luke. Luke crosses his legs beneath his robes and closes his eyes, back perfectly erect. Finn clenches his hands in his lap and stares at them, trying to breathe, remembering all of the times he’s ever counted breaths for Poe: in two three four, out two three four, bringing him back from the brink.

Finn closes his eyes and wills himself to believe that counting breaths will help Poe now.

 

 

 

It’s a lock. A Force mind-lock, like the one he created for Poe, but far larger—encompassing all of Poe’s conscious mind. The elemental parts—hindbrain reflexes, muscle memory—appear to be accessible, but memories, decisions, conscious awareness are all secured behind the lock.

Which is, of course, sealed with Ben’s Force-signature, as impenetrable as any Force mind-lock. Luke eases his way around the edges of the wall, tapping carefully on each curve and join, testing for a weak spot. Finally he finds one: tinier than a nanoparticle, but present. The barest flicker in Ben’s concentration, made manifest in an opening just large enough for Luke to send in a single thread of his consciousness.

_Poe?_

_LUKE_

The raw, strangled desperation in Poe’s mental cry is almost too much for Luke. Luke struggles to focus as Poe’s surge of emotion batters against him, threatening to force him back out again. There’s not enough room in here for both of them.

_Poe. CALM yourself. Please. My position in here is very precarious—I won’t be able to stay in here if you lose it._

Luke pushes a soothing presence towards Poe, willing him to take hold of it so the Jedi can stay. It was hard enough to get inside in the first place. Worse, he’s concerned that repeated traffic through that nanoscopic gap may damage Poe’s mind, or even the lock itself—dooming Poe even if Ben agrees to retract his Force-working.

_Poe. Everything will be all right. You need to stay calm._

_Luke. LUKE. What’s going on? Why— How—_ Luke can feel Poe shaking, pleading, reaching, grasping for Luke’s calm, clinging to it, trying to pull it into himself.

_LUKE. Please. Am I—dead? Are you? What’s going on?_

The question throws Luke for a moment. _You’re home, in the Resistance base. You didn’t know?_

 _NO, I DIDN’T—_ Poe forcibly collects himself. _LUKE. I can’t see, I can’t hear, I can’t feel anything, I don’t even know if I’m breathing, Luke, I thought I was dead, I’m going mad in here, I keep seeing things, am I alive? Do I still have a body? Am I in a coma? What’s going on, Luke, please—_

 _Poe. You’ll be ok. You are alive. You’re in your own body. Ben put a Force-lock on your mind. Your body is able to do all of the necessary functions—eat, sleep, walk, use a fresher. Fly an X-wing, apparently._ There’s a brief note of amusement in Luke’s calm mental tone. _However, the thinking and feeling parts of you have been blocked from accessing any other parts of your mind. Do you understand?_

 _Locked—_ Poe struggles to process this, side-swiped. _Then why don’t you unlock me? You can use the Force, can’t you un—_

_The lock can only be opened by the one who sealed it. It’s the same as my lock on your knowledge of the Resistance, only larger. If I attempt to break it, it will lock itself permanently, impenetrable even by Ben._

_Perma—WHAT?_ Poe’s mental control staggers. _But he’ll never open it._ Poe grabs tightly onto the reins of his panic, but it’s a losing battle. _Why would he open it? Luke. I’ll be—will I be trapped? In here? Forever? Luke—_

_I do not believe so, Poe. We are working on Ben to convince him to open it._

_HOW._

_Rey is with him. She believes that she can turn him back to the Light._

_But that’s— Why did she go to him? I told her to go back— He’ll never turn. He’ll never open the lock._

_He might not._ Luke’s Jedi calm is more battle-ready than bedside manner, but Poe finds something oddly comforting in his steady honesty. It’s better than lies, after all—isn’t it? Isn’t it? But Kylo has to open the lock, he has to, he has to, and Poe has to believe that he will, even if that is a baldfaced lie _—Precisely_ , Luke agrees, interrupting Poe’s frantic internal rambling. _We will proceed under the assumption that he will, in time, agree to open the lock. In the meantime, our priority is to make sure that you are—_

 _If you say ok, I will—_ There is nothing, literally nothing, Poe can do to Luke right now—except, perhaps, push him out of his head, the only person he’s had any kind of contact with in Force knows how long, the only friend he’s been able to talk to in even longer. The threat drops between them, unfinished.

 _Poe. I know that you are not ok. This is not an ok situation to be in._ There’s a part of Poe that relaxes at the words, hearing the intense young hero resurface from underneath Luke’s customary Jedi calm. _I was going to say, as comfortable as could be expected, under the circumstances. We are doing_ all that we can _to get you out of here. I swear it. I believe that you will be able to hold on until that point._

Hold on. Hold on. Poe’s not sure that he can. In fact, he’s quite sure he’s started to lose it already. But he has to hold on. He has to. And he will. _How—how did he even lock me?_ Poe asks at last. _It took so long when you did it. And I felt you in my mind, so clearly. Wouldn’t I have felt this?_

_It would have taken a very long time for him to set up the lock, yes. He would probably have needed to put you under. There are some drugs that can cause suspended consciousness—where the recipient is not conscious, but the brain is still active and can be molded by a Force-user._

_Drugs—_ Poe shudders. _FUCK. The fucking—but—but when I left him, I was fine! I got in the ship, I took off—and—I thought he had shot me down at that point. That’s when I found myself trapped in here._

Luke looks at Poe’s memory of drinking the water and nods. _Yes_ . _He could have set it up while you were drugged. And then closed the lock later, as you left the hangar._

Poe curls into a ball in the dark shadows of his mind, shaking. It’s several moments before he can finally put words to the surging question inside him. _Finn,_ Poe manages at last. One word. So much _. How is Finn? Is he—_ ”Ok” might be too much to ask for, under the circumstances. Sitting in the maelstrom of Poe’s mind, Luke sees the thought and responds to it anyway.

 _Finn is a brave man, Poe. He is holding up. He will get through this. As will you. Oh—do you want to see him? He’s sitting right next to me._ Luke shows Poe the memory of looking at Finn before meditating to find Poe.

Finn looked—well, about as well as could be expected, under the circumstances. Bags under his eyes, dull gaze, mouth pulled down at the edges. Poe’s heart—or wherever he keeps the part of himself that feels things like _love_ and _loyalty_ and _connection,_ now when his mind is sealed off from his body—clenches at the sight. He drinks in the image as though he may never see it again. He may not. He cannot think about that.

_He will be ok, Poe._

_Nothing about this is ok._

He can feel Luke’s agreement. Calm _,_ even Jedi calm, does not mean apathetic for Luke.

_Is anyone taking care of him?_

_We’re all looking after him, Poe. And he is taking care of himself._

_Good._ Poe is silent for a moment, gathering himself. _Does he think that Kylo will open the lock?_

Luke does not respond fast enough.

_He doesn’t, does he._

_He is not sure what to think. None of us are. But—Poe._ Luke waits until Poe can drag his attention back onto Luke. _We are all going to do everything that we possibly can to get you out of this. I swear to you._

_How?_

Luke is silent.

 _HOW, LUKE?_ He’s trapped. TRAPPED. In the tiniest, darkest, most solitary confinement possible.

_Poe. You’re going to have to trust us._

_Trust you? You don’t even have a plan! Not even Rey will be able to turn him!_ It’s unfair to rail against them, but Poe’s a bit too far gone for niceties like focusing his anger on the ones who deserve it. _LUKE. Get me OUT of here. Get me out get me out get me out—_ Poe forcibly strips the raw emotion from his words so he doesn’t force Luke out, but it’s there all the same, echoing against the walls of his cage. _Please, Luke. Please. PLEASE. I’m going mad here, I’m going mad I’m going mad I’m—_

_Did you know that the holosim of the first Death Star run is slightly inaccurate?_

_…What?_

_To pass the time, you’ve been playing the holosim in your mind?_

_How did you know that?_

_You mentioned that you did that to keep yourself sane, the last time you were imprisoned. I thought perhaps it would still be your go-to distractor. I take it I‘m right?_

_…Yeah._

_The third turret on the left actually swivels in a full 360°, not just 270._ Luke shows Poe the memory. For one glorious moment Poe can forget the prison, forget the slavery, forget everything but the wild glee of swooping towards a target in a nimble T-65. _And the sixth TIE-fighter actually arrived a few seconds before it does in the sim. That’s always bothered me. I watched Rey play it a few weeks ago—she made it, with plenty of time to spare, but if the fighter had arrived in the sim at the same time as it actually did in real life, she would have had her work cut out for her to get out of its range. Anyway. I thought you could use a new challenge. Won’t hold you for long, but it might help to pass the time._

 _Thank you._ Poe doesn’t bother being embarrassed at how grateful he is for this tiniest of tidbits. Flying can’t erase the fear of being permanently entombed here, but it might, at least, keep it at bay for a moment or two.

_You’re welcome. Now that I know you’re alive and awake in here, I’ll try to bring something better back next time, if I’m able to return._

_Can’t you stay here?_ He can’t, he can’t, Poe knows that he can’t, but the thought of that door closing, of being left alone here again, not know whether he’ll ever get out again, knowing that Finn must be losing it just as badly on the other side of his head— _Don’t leave me alone in here. Please._

_Poe. I’m sorry. Staying for long periods of time and frequently entering and leaving will damage the opening through which I entered. If it is significantly affected, the lock may seal as permanently as if I had deliberately tried to open it. I came in this time in order to assess your condition, but I will have to leave very soon. I will only enter again in the future if absolutely necessary._

There is nothing Poe can say to that at any volume lower than a scream. He is silent. Luke is silent as well. Poe drags in Luke’s Jedi calm like it’s the spring wind over Yavin, gliding over the temples with a heady rush of leaves and fruit and rot and new life sprouting. Alone. In the dark. In the silence. In the _nothingness_ , the _disembodiedness_ , the _emptiness._ ALONE.

_I taught you the Jedi code, years ago. Do you still remember it?_

_Used to. Not sure I still do. Never really worked for me._

_I bet not._ There’s a distinct current of dry humor in Luke’s tone. _And I thought_ I _had a difficult time mastering my emotions enough to be a Jedi. You might never have made it._

 _Good thing I’m not Force-sensitive, then._ Poe matches him snark for snark, trying not to think about how if he were, he’d have been able to fight back, so many times, he’d never be in this mess—

_I will repeat the code for you. See if it jogs your memory. You may find that it helps you, now. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._

_Fuck that._

Poe can feel Luke’s burbling laughter. _Oh, Poe. I will be glad to see you out of here._

 _There IS emotion, Luke._ The words drag in Poe’s consciousness, intense. _There is. I can’t just turn it off._

Luke is silent for a moment. _I know,_ he says at last.

_…Thank you for trying to help me._

_You’re welcome, Poe. I am sorry I can’t help you any more. Oh—Finn wanted to ask you if there’s anything he can do. In particular, he thought it might help you to feel a human hand—but you said you are unable to feel any physical sensations._

What Poe wouldn’t give to hold Finn’s hand—he drags himself back. _You’re right. I can’t. But—but tell Finn that if it would help him to hold my hand, or hug me, or anything—to please do so. I would be glad to know that he feels—well, at least slightly better.  And I think—I think it might help me as well. Just to know, or even just to think, that he’s nearby._ Poe tries to hold onto the thought, draw strength from it. _So yes, if he wants to, he’s more than welcome._

 _Poe._ Luke’s quiet presence would carry over the din of any battle. _He will be ok. You will be ok. You have to hold onto that._

 _LUKE._ Poe doesn’t have any other words.

 _We’re going to do everything we can to bring you back safely,_ Luke repeats. Poe can feel the calmness, the Jedi-surety of his words. He tries to believe them. He can’t. _Poe_ , Luke continues. _I need to leave now, before my continued presence in here damages the lock Ben’s placed on your mind._

_PLEASE. Don’t leave me._

_Poe. I’m so sorry. I have to. I know you can do this. Is there anything you’d like me to say to Finn?_

Anything Poe would like to say to Finn? Poe needs to say everything. Everything. EVERYTHING.

 _FINN_ —  

A tidal surge of grief and pain forces Luke out before he can catch any coherent thought from Poe.

 

 

 

Luke gasps, jerks in his seat, opens his eyes, blinks hard, and dashes a hand at his face. Finn’s already there in front of him, gripping his arm, desperate. “Luke? Luke? Master Skywalker? Is he—is he—”

“He’s there, Finn.” Luke coughs. Finn pushes a water pak his way; Luke drinks it gratefully, sets it aside with a word of thanks, takes a deep breath. _Oh, Force._ How can he tell Finn? Luke rubs his temples against a growing headache.

“Just tell me,” Finn’s hoarse. “Please. Whatever it is. Just tell me. Is he alive? Is he ok? _Please_ , Luke—” He cuts off, throat too tight to speak.

“Finn.” Luke turns to face him. “He’s alive. He’s in there, he’s conscious, he’s Poe, he’s fully aware.”

“But,” says Finn.

“But,” Luke agrees. He clears his throat. “Ben placed a Force-lock on his mind which separates the conscious parts of his mind from the rest of his body. He is unable to see, feel, hear—anything. He was, ah—” Unnecessary detail. Should not have started the sentence. Finn’s eyes bore into him. Luke sighs. “He cannot feel any part of his body. He thought he was dead.”

Finn makes a choked sound deep in his throat. “Is he—distressed?” he manages at last.

“He’s strong, Finn,” Luke answers. “He’s hanging on. He’ll make it through.”

“He’s distressed.”

“Yes. But he’s not in _pain_ , Finn. He’s just bored.”

Finn’s death glare is impressive. And that’s coming from someone who’s been on the receiving end of Leia’s for years.

“…and afraid,” Luke concedes.

“He doesn’t believe we’ll be able to free him.”

“I assured him we will convince Ben to undo the lock.”

“He doesn’t believe we’ll be able to free him,” Finn repeats.

Luke inhales, exhales. “No,” he answers at last. “He does not.”

Finn swallows hard. To be honest, he doesn’t either. He tries not to think about the possibility that Poe will be trapped in his own mind forever, but it’s there. And if it does come to pass—Poe would not want to live like that. Finn knows. He’s not even sure if anyone _could_ live like that, without going mad. If Poe will lose it before they are able to free him, if by some strange miracle Kylo actually decides to unlock Poe’s prison. Finn does not believe that he ever will. “You’re the only one who does believe it, you know. Do you—do you _really?_ How can you possibly believe it?”

Luke leans back against the wall, looks up at the ceiling. “Because I have seen what a Skywalker can do, if sufficiently motivated—no matter how tight the Dark Side’s hold. And what a Skywalker can _see_ , even when no one else can.”

Finn gives Luke a long look. “You think that Rey can do for Ren what you did for Vader.”

“I hope so,” Luke shrugs.

“…and if she can’t?”

Luke cuts his eyes at Finn. “I will let _you_ , my friend, be the first one to suggest to her that she might not be capable of doing something.”

Finn snorts. He’s silent for a moment, thinking. “You were Vader’s son,” he says at last. “They’re just cousins. I don’t think it’s the same bond.”

Luke shrugs again. “Maybe not. But even without it, she’s still the most stubborn Jedi I’ve ever met,” and there’s no muting his fierce pride for her, “and I taught him. I saw the Light in him. I know it’s there, plenty of it. He’ll be able to find it again, someday. And she’ll find a way to see it in him. I believe it. I believe in both of them.”

Finn looks at Luke, considering. “How is it,” he asks at last, voice flat, “that you still believe in the goodness of the man who killed your best friend, your entire school, and thousands of civilians, not to mention attempted to torture your own daughter in order to _find you and kill you too!_ ”

“Because, Finn—” Luke turns to him with a crooked smile. “I am also a Skywalker."

 

 

 

“I had not realized the deprivation was so complete.” Leia paces before the situation room’s control panel, hands clasped behind her back. “Luke. Is he—”

“Still sane, but losing it.”

Finn’s eyes flick between one sibling and the other. “Luke, you said he was fine! Bored and afraid, not going mad!”

Leia stops pacing and turns to Finn. “Finn. Prisoners of the Empire used to be subjected to sensory deprivation, as part of torture. _I_ was not, thank the Force, but there are plenty of reports of the effects of the practice. Prisoners generally start to lose it within days, and go completely insane within the space of a month or two. _And_ , that was simply without the use of their sight and hearing, as well as no social interactions. To have absolutely no contact with the outside world, or even his own body, as Luke said—” Leia exchanges a long look with her brother. “That is not something that can be endured by a sentient being. The brain seeks sensation. Without it, it begins to invent its own—hallucinations, for example. We don’t know how long he’s been in there. It’s possible that by the time Ben returns to us—”

“He’ll have gone mad,” Finn finishes for her. “So either we wait until Kylo returns, and find that Poe’s gone mad, or you try to free him now, but the lock breaks and he’s stuck there forever, or Kylo never returns and you never try to free him and he’s also stuck there forever. Aren’t there _any other banthafucking options?”_ Finn’s only mildly surprised to find himself on his feet, leaning over the console, yelling at two utterly unflappable Skywalkers.

“What about putting him into a coma?” Jess is leaning back in her chair, striving for calm, but the ragged edges of her nails indicate otherwise. “As long as we don’t know how long it will take until Ben returns, maybe the best option is to just keep him under until we find a way to free him.”

“That’s a good idea, Jess,” Leia nods. “Thank you.”

“We can’t just decide that for him. If he doesn’t—if we can’t—” Finn’s arms wrap unconsciously around his middle, body curving in to protect against the idea. _Poe Poe Poe Poe Poe please—_ Finn gulps and forces himself back upright, tries to steady his voice. “If Kylo doesn’t relent. If we can’t bring him back. Then what? Then we just—pull the plug?” Despite his efforts, his voice cracks. “He’ll have no idea what’s going on. When we’re putting him under, he’ll think—he’ll think he’s—I’ve been put under like that before. I—wasn’t aware of a lot, at the time, but I remember. It’s not like falling asleep. It’s like losing—dying—it’s—it’s terrifying. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll think we’re killing him. That he couldn’t be freed, and we decided to—to—” Finn presses his knuckles to his mouth. “Can’t you at least go talk to him again, Luke? Tell him what’s going on. Ask him what he wants us to do.”

“We can’t risk it. If passing through the opening I found damages the mind-lock, it could trigger it to snap shut permanently.”

Silence.

 _Please, Force. Please. Let him be ok._ Finn’s hands slide to his temples and press tight. Jess’ dark almond eyes are intent on his.

“Finn.” Leia’s voice is gentle, but firm. “As Poe’s husband, it’s your call.”

“It’s _what?”_ Finn looks up at her, wild-eyed.

“Decisions about Poe’s health, when he is incapacitated, fall to you.”

“No.”

Leia presses her lips together.

“No! I can’t—I don’t know what he would want to do!”

“It sounds like the choice is this or insanity.” Jess leans toward him, voice gentle. “Finn. He’ll be ok.”

 _We should have run away while we had the chance,_ Finn thinks. _A beautiful planet in the Outer Rim, a hammock on Yavin IV, a two-pilot shuttle in deep space. Anything. Anywhere. Safe. Whole. Together._ He leans his head into his hands. _I can’t do this. Oh, Force. I can’t do this._ He closes his eyes, breathes, presses the two rings against his forehead.

“Ok,” he rasps at last, heart aching. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

 

 

 

No one speaks to Poe as they lead him from the lockdown room to a long-term care wing. No one wants to hear that dull voice _belonging_ to Kylo fucking Ren. Finn holds Poe’s hand. He imagines Poe can feel it. He imagines they are lying in a hammock in the jungles of Yavin IV. He imagines he is listening to Poe’s voice in his helmet comm as they dart through a training maneuver. He imagines a lot of things that are neither here nor now nor real, because here and now and real is not something he can handle.

Jess walks on Finn’s other side, murder in her eyes. Poe’s saved her life seventy-eight and a half times, or at least that’s what it was at the last count. She’s flown with him for five years now, ever since he joined the Resistance. There are very, _very_ few people Jess trusts with her life: Poe. Rey. Snap. Finn. Karé. She trusts the General not to send her out on a hopeless mission, or at least not without good cause. Beyond those few? A blaster under her pillow, a pistol in her belt, and an X-wing’s ion cannons. With Rey gone, and Poe out, Jess is finding it harder and harder to find sleep at night.

With a gentle hand to his chest, Finn guides Poe down to the medbay cot. A nurse and a meddroid work in tandem to set him up with everything he’ll need for survival. Poe’s blank gaze matches the pale medbay linen of his shirt, the smooth medbay sheets that cover his body. His hand is inert in Finn’s, but warm, still warm as life. Finn holds onto that idea as he watches the steady green spikes and dips of the heart monitor, tries to breathe in time with it.

Dr. Kalonia slips an IV into Poe’s arm. He blinks. Finn’s thumb slides over the back of his hand once, twice. Poe blinks again, heavier, slower. The onlookers’ quiet breathing is the only sound in the cold room. Poe’s eyes flutter shut. Poe is never this _still_ , slack, limp. Not even in sleep. The seismic lines of the EEG gradually settle into gentle coma-wavers.

Finn lowers his head over Poe’s hand and cries.

 

 

 

Finn jerks awake. Someone’s banging on his door. “Open up, Finn,” Jess shouts. “Open up!”

He rushes to open the door, heart in his mouth. Poe’s ok? Rey’s back?

No. And…no.

“They’re never coming back, Finn,” Jess slurs.

Jess is drunk.

“Jess—” Finn starts wearily. He liberates the bottle from her loose grasp. Jess merely blinks at it.

“They’re never coming back,” she repeats. “Poe’s never gonna wake up. Ren’s gonna kill Rey. Or worse. We’re gonna get intel about this girl with a mask and a red lightsaber, murma—murdering. Civilians.” She stumbles inside his door. Finn retreats to the desk, simultaneously trying to wake up, hide the bottle in a drawer, and block the image from his mind. Rey, mask. Poe, blank. _NO._

“It’s _over_ , Finn,” Jess is still babbling. “ _Over_. All over. Everyone I love dies. Flies away. Gets blown up and stabbed and poisoned and shot and sabered and _they’re never fucking coming back, Finn!_ Ever. Poe’s gonna fucking sleep until he dies. Rey’s gonna be a fucking Darksider. Rem’ber that time I tried to choke her because of that fucking drug? She’s gonna come back and fucking choke me, and I’ll have to fucking kill her, and—and—”

 _“Jess!”_ Finn finally cuts into her tirade. “Don’t talk like that. It’s _Rey_. She can do anything.”

“She can’t fucking kill Kylo fucking Ren, she tried that already and look what happened to you, she’s gonna be a fucking Darksider and they're gonna kill Luke and there won't be any more Jedis and Poe’s never gonna give us a sappy pep talk again before a battle and he’s not gonna have my six and you’re gonna be fucking sad all the time and Leia’s gonna be sad and I’m gonna be sad and let’s _fuck!”_ She grabs Finn’s arms and wraps herself clumsily around him. “Let’s _fuck_. Come on. Drink. Get drunk. Let’s fuck and forget everything and make it all go away, everything, all of it—”

“ _Jess._ Stop it.” Finn tries to disentangle himself from her arms, but his brain is still occupied with trying to obliterate the idea of a permanently locked Poe. And, she may be smaller than him, but she doesn't have the highest sparring score among the pilots for nothing. She snaps out of every hold he puts her in.

“Where’s drink, where’d it—where’d you put my drink? Come on, drink it. You’ve never slept with a girl, right? I know these things. You’ll like it, come on, let’s just bang and forget them, they’re never coming back, Finn.” Her voice rises, hysterical. “They’re never coming back! It’s just us now and we’re all gonna _die_ , we’re gonna—”

“Jess!” Alcohol’s slowed her reflexes enough so that Finn can finally pin her wrists to the wall to restrain her. She slinks up beneath him, humming to herself. “Jess, you’re _wasted_ , come on—”

“Let’s fucking fuck! We’re all alone, everyone’s gone and dead and Dark and—” She closes her eyes and shudders. “Come on, Finn! We’re the only ones left here. Let’s forget everything, let’s fuck, let’s—”

“ _Ok_ , Jess,” Finn sighs. “Ok. That’s what we’re going to do. Come on. Your bed’s softer. Let’s go there, ok?”

“Ok ok ok where’s drink?”

“You’ve had plenty, Jess.” Finn steers her out of the room, one hand under her shoulders to keep her upright.

“We’re going to fuck?”

Thankfully, the halls are nearly empty in the cold hours of the not-quite morning. “Yes,” Finn sighs. “We’re going to fuck.” He presses her hand to the biometric reader to open her door, walks—well, drags—her inside, and dumps her onto the bed without ceremony. Finds a water pak on her desk, fills it, sets it by her bed, adds a few painkillers beside it. Before he leaves, however, she grabs his arm with durasteel strength.

“Finn,” she groans. “They’re gonna—they’re gonna—”

“They are going to be fucking _fine_ , Jess, do you hear me?” Finn growls, prying her hand off his arm. “ _Fine._ Rey is going to come back. Poe is going to get unlocked. We are going to get all of the Stormtroopers to defect and blow up everyone else who doesn’t and then we’re going to go home in peace. And then we’re going to throw Rominaria flowers at you two during your ridiculously sweet wedding for all of the babies you’re going to have, and then we’re going to stuff our faces with a gigantic cake in the shape of an X-wing with lightsabers for S-foils, just like you two wanted. Do you hear me? _Do you hear me!”_

Finn dashes a hand across his eyes and turns to go. Before closing the door behind him, he turns back over his shoulder.

“And—” Finn leans his head against the jamb and closes his eyes. “And if they don’t, Jess,” he rasps. He presses his forehead against the ridges in the doorjamb until he can feel the sharp lines about to press through his skin. “Then we’ll get absolutely blind fucking drunk and fuck until we can’t feel _anything_ at all, _ever_ again. Ok?”

He slams the door shut behind him.

 

 

 

Jess doesn’t reappear until well after 1400 the next day, dark shadows under her eyes and her hair pulled back in a messy bun instead of her usual neat braid. She picks her way carefully across the hangar to where Finn’s trying to refit the left power coupling on the new _Freedom One_ for the eighteenth time. When it doesn’t work any better than the seventeenth try, he grunts in frustration, throws it to the ground, and leans his head on the X-wing’s smooth hull _._

“They fit a little better when you file the ends first to shorten them,” Jess rasps from behind him.

Finn sighs and turns to face her. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hey.” She scrubs a booted toe against the duracrete. “Um. I. Don’t remember all of last night?”

Finn snorts. “Yeah. I bet you don’t.”

She reaches for the end of her braid, finds nothing, lets her hand fall back to her side. “Yeah. Well. I’m sorry about it. I do remember some things. I think I said some things that I shouldn’t have said, and—I think I may have propositioned you?” she asks, voice spiking upwards.

“Yup.”

Jess winces. “I’m sorry.” She looks up at him, alarmed. “We didn’t—”

“Nope.”

Her shoulders relax back down from her ears. “Good. Ok. Well. Thank you for dealing with me. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Finn shrugs. “It’s ok, Jess.”

“Yeah. Well. You were right. They’ll both be fine. Completely fine. Really.”

Finn presses his lips upwards into something that wouldn’t remember a smile in any charted system. Jess’ eyes fall.

“Look, Jess,” Finn starts, then stops. “I can’t take—” He shakes his head. “I just—I can’t deal with any of it myself right now, ok? I can’t take your sadness too. Go talk to—I don’t know—oh, _fuck_.” He scrubs a hand over his hair. “Look. I’m sorry. Can you find someone else to talk about it with? To drink with? Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jess’ eyes fill with apology. “Of course. I’m sorry, Finn.”

“It’s ok. I just—I can’t—”

“No, no, I understand,” Jess rushes. “I’ll talk to someone else. And—oh, right. That reminds me.” She rummages around in her pocket. “I have a present for you.”

“A what? Jess, you don’t have to—”

“Not really a present, ok, fine, but—here.” She pulls out a small bright key and holds it out to him. “It’s the key to one of the spare hangar lockers,” she explains, words spilling out in a rush. “I put the rest of my stash there today. Rey’s going to come back, and Poe’s going to get unlocked, and we’ll have a huge crazy dance party and get really happy-drunk, not sad-drunk, and spend all night making sweet sexy love to the people we love. And until then, I’m going to be sober.”

Finn takes the key and turns it over in his fingers. “Thanks, Jess.” He tries again for a smile, with a bit more success this time. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She smiles back, teeth bright against her golden skin. “Good. Because I’m expecting you to reprise the Stormtrooper Shuffle for us. I’ve forgotten how it goes.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Finn mutters, but he smiles despite himself, for real this time. “Thanks, Jess.”

“You’re welcome.” Jess nods at him again, then turns and picks her way back across the hangar. Finn tucks the key into his pocket and leans his head against _Freedom One._

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away, there lived a slave who wanted nothing more than to escape. He dreamed about it every day, but he never had a way to leave until he met the handsome prince who was captured by the big, bad emperor. They flew away together on a shining durasteel dragon, back to the prince’s home._

_There the slave found out that he, too, could be a prince. That he, too, could have a family and a home and a man he loved. And they fell in love, and they married, and lived together in happiness._

_And then everything went to shit._

_Freedom One_ ’s durasteel angles are cold and wet beneath Finn’s face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> ...here's a cup of tea and a warm blanket and a BB-8-shaped plushie?


	11. you have no idea what i feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (.......I just want to take a moment to say that this is NOT the sweet lil' Ben Solo redemption arc you (hopefully) weren't looking for, if you're worried about that. Kylo is a motherfucking asshole, not a woobie. I hope I've done justice to all of the characters in this fic. If I haven't, please let me know......)

Kylo does his best to outpace her on the walk through zigzagging corridors, leading up and out to a set of rooms near the officers’ decks. Rey’s with him each step of the way—clearly he’s never tried to outrun a gang of scavengers out to nab her latest find. The door to his quarters hisses open. They enter.

“My bedchamber is beyond that door.” Kylo waves a dismissive hand around the spartan control room. “Yours is there.” He points to a second door, clearly a recent addition. “I booted the officer who used to live there, removed the door to the exterior hallway, and installed a door connecting the room to here.

“So you can track my movements.”

“Yes,” Kylo shows absolutely no sign of guilt. “Don’t worry, I have no intentions of entering your rooms. And no one else has ever entered mine. You will stay here, unless you are with me. You are not a prisoner, exactly—I may eventually give you leave to wander the ship, if I choose. I will know wherever you are, of course. Oh, and it's safe to talk in here, if you were wondering. The walls of my chambers are completely soundproof."

"Why are the walls soundproofed, if no one ever comes in here?" Rey asks absently, seeing Jess' wicked smirk as she licks her fingers after Rey comes.

Kylo tilts his head at her for a moment. "For a perfectly Light Jedi child," he says at last, "you have a remarkably dirty mind."

"I'm not a perfectly Light Jedi child. You'll do well to remember that."

“Right. So. How much do you know of the Dark side?”

“Don’t bother. You’re not going to turn me.”

“Oh? I see. Why are you here, then?”

“To protect Poe from you. Beyond that, you can dive into space without a helmet for all I care.”

“Excellent,” Kylo murmurs. “Excellent. You do know the Dark side. Anger. Hatred. Fear. You’ll go far, with me. As my apprentice, you’ll have more power than you ever dreamed of.”

Rey stops and stares at him. “Where in the galaxy do you get these lines?” she asks, incredulous. “Do you spend all of your time watching holo-dramas? I thought you were busy ruining the galaxy and all that.”

“It’s not a line,” Kylo snaps back, irritated. “It’s the truth. The Dark side is more powerful.”

“I don’t want power, Kylo. I want peace.”

“So you are a perfect Light-sider, then.”

Rey stares at him for a moment. “Kylo. If you’re trying to goad me into attacking you, it’s not going to work. What is your game? You want to turn me, right? I’d have thought you’d try to be a bit more subtle than this.”

His lightsaber flicks on with a sudden rush. “I could kill you, now.”

Rey stares at him, incredulous. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“The Dark side. Didn’t they tell you? There’s too much of it in me. Some bantha shit like that. Too much to be allowed to live.” He advances on her, plasma arcs racing up and down the shuddering length of his saber.

“Kylo. Cut the fucking drama. If you want to talk, let’s _talk._ Like normal sentients.”

“Talk.” Kylo circles around her. Rey stands her ground, hands on hips. “All right. I can do that. Let’s _talk_.” He springs into the air, landing on a control panel. He paces up and down its length, nimbly avoiding the landscape of buttons and levers. “What would you like to _talk_ about? Oh! I have an idea. I have a story to tell you. Would you like to hear a story? Of course you’d like to hear a story. Here’s the story.”

He enjoys the way Rey’s eyes are widening slightly, slightly more, even more as he gestures above her, helmet nearly brushing the ceiling, saber cutting crimson slashes in the air above her head.

“They were going to kill me, you know,” he continues, perfectly conversational.

“Probably had a good reason to. Most of my best friends have tried to kill you at some point. Who was it this time?”

“Your precious General. Your beloved Master.”

“You’re lying.”

“Not about this.” She can hear Kylo’s smirk even through the vocalizer in his mask. “They were afraid I would become the next Vader. So afraid, in fact, that they decided to kill me before I could get that far.”

“They would never have done that.”

Reaching the end of the leftmost control panel, Kylo leaps to the next. Rey’s eyes track him, never lowering her guard.

“They did. You should ask them about it sometime. You should also remember that it is very foolish to tell lies that can be corroborated by someone else who still lives. I am many things, but foolish is not usually one of them.”

“Insane is.”

Kylo pauses mid-stride. “Yes. Well. Quite possibly. Also, irrelevant. So.” He continues his sloping prowl. “They decided to kill me. I was fifteen. Too dangerous. Too powerful. Too Dark. So they discussed me, one night, and then they decided to kill me.”

“They wouldn’t have done that,” Rey hisses.

“They wouldn’t have?” Kylo whirls towards her atop the control panel, lands in a fighter’s crouch. “Rey.” He leans towards her, menacing. Rey does not lean back. “I had every room in that house bugged. I heard every word. They were going to kill me so I didn’t become another Vader. So I decided, if they were so afraid of me being Vader, I would _become_ Vader. I would start by killing all of the Jedi, and then I would kill them. All of them. I already got the first one.”

“The first—” Rey chokes off. “He was your _FATHER!”_ she screams at him.

“WAS!” Kylo roars back. “And then he left! He wasn’t even there to discuss whether they should _kill_ me! Just like your own father left.” He advances on her suddenly, a menacing slash of black and red.

Rey has been punched in the gut. She’s sure she has. Her mouth opens, closes. “How—how did you know that?” she asks at last, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.

“Your ‘friend’ told me. The pilot.”

She lunges at him, teeth bared in a snarl. “You _took_ it from him, is what you mean.”

Kylo shrugs, nonchalant. “Yes. That is, in fact, what I mean. Thank you for pointing it out. Don’t get distracted. How does it feel to know that your father abandoned you?”

“How does it feel to know that you killed your own father?”

“You’re not bad at this, you know.” Kylo nods at her. “As long as you’re on the offensive, you’ll never have to stop to defend yourself. It’s a good tactic. Against some people, that is. Unfortunately, I do not stop attacking, so you’re going to have to answer the question eventually. How does it feel to know that your own father abandoned you on a hostile desert junkyard, with no one to take care of you, and then didn’t even bother to claim you when you met him again? Probably would never have even told you, if you hadn’t asked.”

Kylo didn’t even know brown eyes could _be_ that cold. Doesn’t that hurt? He should try to see how long she can hold that glare for sometime. Just for fun. Could he match her? Probably. He’s heard that his grandfather used to have a powerful glare, when he was younger. Maybe these are his eyes, come back to guide him. He likes that thought. They’re _certainly_ nothing like Luke’s calm blue gaze.

“Why are you asking me this?” she hisses.

“I merely wanted to illustrate that you already knew they were capable of deciding to kill me. Because they were just as capable of deciding to abandon _you._ ” Kylo turns back to the control panel and resumes his casual jaunt across its surface. “ _That’s_ your precious Light at work, Rey. Cutting off emotional attachments. Living according to reason and justice and logic and detachment and _calm,_ fucking _calm.”_ He slashes at the air again, traces a loose kata just to see the trail of red sparks dance around his shoulders. “They gave up on me, Rey. Just like they gave up on you.”

“It’s not going to work, Kylo.” Rey’s eyes do not leave his mask. “I’m not going to turn to the Dark side. Stop trying to manipulate me.”

Kylo turns back with a bored half-shrug. “No one thinks they will. And then they do. It’s just a matter of finding the weak point. Anyone can turn. It’s just a matter of when.”

“You know that people don’t actually talk like that, right? You need to get off this star destroyer once in a while. Socialize with people. Get drunk.”

Kylo ignores this. “Your pilot broke.”

Rey’s hands clench into fists.

“It was fun,” Kylo adds. 

“Was it fun to kill your own father?” The words slip out of Rey’s mouth, vicious and sibilant.

Kylo’s boot slips against the edge of a lever.

“WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?” Rey screams. “How could you, Kylo? HOW COULD YOU?”

“They were going to kill _ME!”_ he roars back. “I was _fifteen_ , Rey.” He swings his lightsaber dangerously close to her face to disguise the sudden crack in his voice.

“They tried to help you!” Rey shouts.

“No,” Kylo snarls. “They tried to _fix_ me. They tried to make me what they wanted me to be: a perfect Jedi. Calm. Peaceful. Emotionless. But _I’m not a Jedi, Rey._ I’ll never be a Jedi. There’s too much Darkness in me. And they knew it. So they were going to kill me.”

“He _believed_ in you, Kylo. He wanted to bring you home.”

“He believed that they could still make me into the Jedi they wanted me to be,” Kylo hisses, drawing in close to her. Rey stands her ground, but their bodies are far too close for comfort. “ _That’s_ why he wanted to bring me home.”

“He wanted to bring you home because he loved you!”

“No!” Kylo shouts back. “He didn’t love _me_. He loved _what he wanted me to be_ , and he thought I could still become that. Don’t you see the difference? He could never love me for who I am. This is who I am, Rey!”

_the light is flickering, and the room smells like barbecued nerf, but there are no nerfs here, only things that used to be parts of people, but they’re not anymore because he killed them, he killed all of them, and now there’s no going back, now he’s chosen his path, because he can’t walk in the Light, so he must become the Darkness now—_

“ _No!”_ Rey blocks the stream of images from Kylo and walls off her mind from further assault. “He _loved_ you, Kylo. He missed you. They all did. They just wanted to have you home with them. Don’t you understand? They _love_ you. They _care_ about you. Even now, when you’ve done so many awful things, they still care about you. They still want you to come home. And when you do, they’ll welcome you with open arms. Do you have _any idea_ how precious that is? How _lucky_ you are to have them?” Rey’s voice cracks.

“He didn’t love me,” Kylo hisses, looming close over her. “None of them did. They feared me. They tried to control me. They tried to mold me into something I could never be. Something they could love. They would never, _ever_ , be able to love me for who I truly am. You _know_ it’s true,” he presses. “They could never love a Darksider.”

“Luke loved Vader—”

“Yes!” Kylo explodes, whirling around and smashing his boot into the control panel. “Because he saw, at the end, a tiny bit of Light left in him! _That’s what they love, Rey!_ ” He turns back to her, panting. “ _Light_. Not me. Not even you. They love the Light they see in you. And I will never be Light enough for them. Admit it. They sent you here so you could find the Light in me and turn me back. Make me a Jedi again.”

“No.” Rey stands her ground, centered as ever. “They did not want me to come. I came to protect Poe. But it is true. I _can_ see the Light in you, no matter what you keep shouting.”

“You see the light in me.” Kylo’s calm now. Deathly calm. “All right. I see.” He leans close again.  “You know what I see?”

Rey stares up at him, silent, one hair-trigger away from _shoving_ him back.

Kylo’s voice flattens into a bitter sneer. “I see that you’re just like them. Looking only at my Light. Not at _me._ ” He holds up a black-gloved hand. Iridescent bolts of lightning dart from one finger to another in a frenzied ball of Dark energy. _“This is who I am,_ Rey,” he hisses. “If you’re going to look at me, then look at _all_ of me. See me for who I am.” The lightning in his palm flickers for an instant before strengthening again into a tight knot of crackling blue bolts. “If you can’t do that, then we’re done here.”

The lightning disappears as quickly as it appeared. Kylo hops lightly back to the floor. “You know what else I see?” he asks, very soft. “Your other pilot friend. The one who fucks you because she wants to tell everyone she’s the one who fucks the baby Jedi.”

“Look, Kylo.” Rey scrubs a weary hand across her forehead. “You’re going to have to be more subtle. Seriously. This is getting old.”

“One of these days she’s going to fly away. Out on a mission. And never, ever, come back.”

Rey stares over his shoulder and takes one slow, deliberate breath. She knows this. Does he think she doesn’t know this? Does he think she doesn’t know the difference between abandoning and _dying?_  Does he think she hasn’t had to make her peace with it, in all the months they’ve been together now? There are many things she could say at this point, including some lovely polite little phrases, but in honor of Jess, she chooses words that would make her girlfriend proud.

“Fuck you,” she says to Kylo.

“We could,” Kylo says.

“Stop being ridiculous,” Rey snaps. “I’m your fucking cousin.”

“So?” Kylo steps closer. “Did you not get enough dick on Jakku? That’s why you came here?”

Rey’s lightsaber is out and thrumming before she even realizes what she’s done. Horrified, her finger hovers over the ignition switch to put it out—but his saber is already out and heading towards her with deadly intent. She parries his blow instinctively and lunges towards him with a furious rush of energy. _Don’t—you—threaten—me—_ she fights him with everything she’s got. _Don’t—you—taunt—me—_ he’s almost a perfect equal, greater height and power, but she’s got the advantage of lighter clothing and greater agility, to boot. But she does not want to fight him. She knows, he knows. This is the way to the Dark side.

Rey counts each steady breath, searching for her center. When she finds it again, she cuts out her saber and flings herself back across the room, out of his reach. _“I. Will. Not. Turn,”_ she pants. “Stop trying to bait me.”

“Then why are you here?” Kylo asks, soft and sibilant.

“To protect Poe from you.” _You monster,_ she adds, but that won’t help anything here.

“Hmm,” Kylo says.

Rey sheathes her lightsaber and stares at him, waiting. “What?” she snaps at last, when it’s clear he doesn’t plan to elaborate.

“You may want to comm home,” is all Kylo says. He waves a hand at the console. “Feel free to use the transceiver here. It’s the one I used to comm the Falcon, after all. Perfectly encrypted, as I’m sure your comms team discovered.”

“What did you do to him?” Rey hisses, low and deadly. “You said you weren’t going to hurt him!”

“I didn’t,” Kylo assures her. He sheathes his saber and walks to the door. “I’ll leave you some privacy.”

“Kylo—” But he’s gone, and the door swishes shut behind him. Rey stares at it for a long moment, thinking.

Is this a trap?

He’d said that he couldn’t trace the line to the Falcon. And wouldn’t he already have sent troops, if that was his goal?

And _what has he done_ _to Poe?_

Rey steps to the console and turns it on. She’s no comms tech, but she knows how to check the log, and soon finds a line so encrypted she can barely tell where it begins and ends.

She opens the line and waits for an answer.

 

 

 

She’s only paced the room long enough to watch an entire planetary system grow and fade in the viewports by the time a Wookiee roar finally startles her out of nervous contemplation.

“Chewie!” Rey runs to the holo to greet him. “No, it’s ok, I’m still with Kylo but—it’s ok. I just—what happened to Poe? Is everyone ok? Should I come back? No no no—oh, Jess is there? Yeah, of course I can wait for her—”

 A moment later, a lighter set of footsteps accompanies the Wookiee back aboard the freighter. _“Jess!”_ Rey leans forward, as though to kiss her through the holo.

“Rey!” Jess does the same, face passing in and out of the viewfield before flickering back into place. “Are you ok? Chewie was talking too fast for me to understand, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Rey interrupts hastily. “How is everyone at home?”

“Fine!” Jess nods vigorously. “Very fine. Everyone’s fine.”

“Jess.”

Jess presses her lips together, then reluctantly starts, “Poe—is—”

“Is _what,_ Jess?” Rey asks when the answer is not immediately forthcoming. Her hands clench on her lightsaber.

“Is mind-locked. Force mind-locked.”

Rey blinks. “Well—but—yes, of course he is. I did that before he left, so Kylo couldn’t take any of the Resistance’s secrets.”

“No.” Jess frowns. “He’s.” She stops again.

“Jess. _Please_.”

“He’s completely mind-locked. He could only say—just— _I belong to Kylo Ren._ Couldn’t look at us, respond to us, anything. Luke went inside his head to see what was wrong. Ren locked up his entire fucking mind into a box. And, of course, like yours—”

“He’s the only one who can unlock it,” Rey says faintly. She falls back into the chair behind her and stares at holo-Jess. “But he’ll never unlock it.”

Jess stares back at her.

“Jess.” Rey’s voice trembles.

“It’s ok, Rey. We'll—we’ll figure it out.  Do something. We’ll—it’ll be fine.”

“No. I will bring him back. He’ll unlock Poe. He will. I swear it.”

“Rey, you can’t—you need to come back now. He’s safe from—from Kylo now, you need to come back, you—”

“He’s not safe! He’s—” Rey can’t even imagine what Finn feels right now. _Oh, Force._

“Rey, _neither are you._ And you're—” She can’t say _more important_ , not out loud, but it’s true, and they both know, and Rey hates it the way she hates hunger—a fact of life, inescapable and deadly and all-consuming. They need her to kill Snoke, with Luke. Not the _only_ hope, but—but close enough.

“I just need to make it worth his while,” Rey stares above the holocomm, lost in thought. “Find a way to turn him.” She smiles suddenly, cold and hard. “Anyone can turn.”

“Rey—”

“I'm going to try, Jess.”

“He’s going to fucking try to turn _you_ , Rey!” Jess shouts. “Don’t fucking _do_ this! Come back.” She leans into the holo. “Come _back_. Please.” Her voices cracks.

“I can do this,” Rey says.

 _“No,_ Rey! Don’t be a fucking _idiot_. _Please_. Come back to us. Come back to me.”

“I’ll be ok, Jess.” Rey can feel herself settling into her center, calm and strong and steady. “Look. Kylo could have simply killed Poe. Could have directed him to attack the base. Could have tried to kill _me_ when I arrived. He didn’t do any of those. He doesn’t actually mean to harm the Resistance. Or kill me. He just wants me to stay, so he can turn me. So I’ll turn his game back onto him, and turn _him_. And then I’ll come back to you. I promised, didn’t I?”

Jess shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Rey—”

“I’ll come back to you.”

Jess stares at her for a long moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she sighs at last. “ _Please_.”

Rey laughs. “I’ll try not to.”

“Good.”

Rey presses her fingers to her lips, then raises her hand to the holo. Jess pulls in a long breath, staring at Rey as though she will never see her again. Finally, she kisses her fingers and raises them to Rey’s. “I love you, firecat,” she whispers.

“I love you too.” Rey memorizes Jess’ features—elegant brows smooth cheekbones golden skin upcurving lips. Her hand hovers over the silver button, then pushes it. The holocomm cuts out.

Rey stares at the empty space for a long moment before sinking to the floor and closing her eyes.

 

 

 

Star destroyer tiles are not nearly as conducive to sitting cross-legged as forest clearings, but they’ll do, in a pinch. Rey takes a deep breath and dives into the deep well of _center_ within herself. The Force swirls around her, soothes her, reminds her of her place within the galaxy. Why can’t Kylo find this? Or, if he can, with the ample amounts of Light she can see flickering around inside of him, why can’t he hold onto it? How can she help him return to the Light?

She slips deeper, deeper into the Force. The Jedi are dead, the Jedi are all dead—but this is not Kylo’s massacre, Rey realizes with a start. This is earlier. Before even Luke and Leia’s time. But wait, there are two Jedi still living. Brown robes, grieving slump, barren desert that must become home—Obi-Wan turns to see her, startled.

_Rey. It’s good to see you again._

… _Again?_

 _I’ve visited you a few times before, yes._ With a shock, Rey recognizes Master—father?—Luke’s calm smile. Learned, not inborn? Figures, considering the previous Skywalker. Rey doubts that smile suited Vader any more than it would Kylo.

 _Just to see how things were going,_ Obi-Wan continues. _You seem to be doing very well for yourself now. A skilled padawan, learning fast. Won’t be long before you’re a full Jedi Knight yourself._

 _Thank you,_ Rey replies, pleased at the compliment. Luke’s spoken so often and so highly of Obi-Wan, she feels like it’s not the first time they’ve met, either. _Master Obi-Wan. I have a question for you._

_Yes?_

_…What was it like, seeing Anakin turn into Vader?_

Obi-Wan is silent. _He did not “turn into” Vader,_ he responds at last. _Vader killed Anakin. Just as Kylo killed Ben._

Rey turns this over in her head. It’s no different from what Luke has said so many times— what Kylo’s said himself.

_Do you think you could have done anything to stop him, before he turned? To keep him in the Light?_

Obi-Wan shakes his head. _I don’t know, Rey. Your father’s asked me this so many times. Anakin fell for so many different reasons. He just had this_ anger _, this_ rage _, burning in him all of the time. I could never figure out why. He was afraid that Padmé would die—because his mother had died, and so brutally, at that—but I think it started even before they killed his mother. Maybe because he never knew his father, because he was born a slave…Certainly being told by the council that he wasn’t ready to be a Master made things far worse. And, of course, eventually Palpatine got into his ear, and drew him in. So many different factors all combined for him. Who’s to say what the last straw was for Ben? How it started, how it built, what could have helped? I wish I could tell you. Ultimately, that’s just how it works: the anger rises, and they fall._

 _How do you stand it?_ Rey asks. _Knowing that you were the last one who could have saved him before he fell._

Obi-Wan’s eyes are sadder than Luke’s.  _I tell myself that there was nothing else I could have done. I trained him. I looked after him. I taught him everything I knew about the ways of the Force. I tried to reason with him, to help him see the Light. I fought by his side, I believed in him—I loved him like a brother, Rey. And still he turned._ Obi-Wan pauses for a moment. _I tell the same to Luke, when he visits. That he did all he could. Loved the boy, trained him, taught him the code. I tell him that Leia, and Han—they, too, did all they could. The Dark side had too strong of a hold on Ben for him to ever be a Jedi. Like Anakin—like all of the Sith—he saw only absolutes: power or weakness. Allies or enemies. Good or evil. Life or death._

Obi-Wan lowers his head, letting his hood cover his face. _In the end, there was nothing else we could have done._

Rey sits beside him in silence. The color of the desert of Tatooine is ever-so-slightly different, the shape of the cliffs so foreign to Jakku’s rolling dunes, the twin suns brighter than one alone could ever be, but it’s still her world. Luke’s. Anakin’s. The sun-warmed sand is unpleasant, but familiar—a heat that her bones will remember for the rest of her life. All of those nights of putting on the helmet, closing her eyes, and piloting a starfighter to a welcoming home—sitting on the sand. The first time she was hurt—on the sand. The first time she knocked down a pair of grabbing hands with her staff—also on the sand.

Finn doesn’t understand why she still wants to return, even knowing now that her family will never come for her. He’s only felt the searing heat. But she knows that the desert has another side. Brutal sun and soaring stars. Loneliness and independence. Fear and pride.

Life _and_ death.

Rey looks out over the rise and fall of the dunes, thinking.

 _Thank you, Obi-Wan,_ she says at last. She rises, bows. _May the Force be with you._

_And with you, Rey._

She is gone.

 

 

 

When she opens her eyes again at last, Kylo’s sitting before her, gleaming metal swivel chair tipped halfway back. One leg crossed over the other, hands steepled before him.

“Hello again.”

Rey nods up at him. “Hello.”

“Have a good trip?”

“Take off your mask.”

“No.”

“Take it off. I don’t talk to creatures in masks.”

“You are not in a position to make demands, right now.”

“Afraid I’ll think you’re ugly?” She smirks at him. “I know you have a scar across your face. Take it off.”

“Do you think it will make any difference?”

Rey shrugs. “I think that when I make faces at you, I will be able to know that you see them and appreciate their mastery.” _There, Jess. Learned from the best._

Kylo tilts his head. After a long moment, his hands rise to the sides of his face. _Click-hiss,_ and the mask lifts up and off his face. He crosses the room and sets it in a container of—ashes? Next to it sits— _oh holy fucking rathtarspawned bantha shit._

“Yes,” Kylo says. “That’s your lovely grandfather.”

Rey counts a long inhale and lets it out. “Had a lovely grandmother, too,” is all she says.

Kylo shrugs, still staring down at Vader’s mask. “She was weak.” He turns back to Rey. “We are not. We have the Force. Like Vader. She was a failed senator. We can rule the galaxy, if we want.”  

Rey’s eyes trace up and down the livid red scar that bisects his face. “If we want.” She shrugs. “I don’t. Far too much hassle.”

“Hmm,” Kylo looks at her, impassive. “You may change your mind about that.”

“Not likely. And you know that as well as I do. I’m not Dark, Kylo. Power does not interest me.”

“Hmm,” is all he says.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” she snaps.

“To train you in the Dark side.”

Rey cocks her head, hands on hips. “Never seen a nerf, never herded one. So don’t lie to me like that. Try again.”

He lets out a snort at that. “Adapted that one from her, didn’t you.”

Rey shrugs. “Not from a Teedo, that’s for sure. So why did you ask me to come here?”

“To train you,” he answers, voice flat.

“Why did you want me to come here?” Rey hisses. “The _real_ reason, not your usual bantha shit.”

Kylo is silent.

 _“Why did you kill him?”_ she shouts.

 _“I HAD TO!”_ Kylo roars back.

“Why?”

“Because he was part of—of what was tearing me up. The Light. I can’t get rid of it. I’m neither, Rey,” he snarls. “Not Light enough to be a Jedi. Not Dark enough to be a Sith. Caught in between. The only way for me to truly become a Sith is to kill them. To destroy the Light in me, so that I can finally become the Darkness. If I kill them, all of them, I will have no more weaknesses. Then I will have all of the power. All of the glory. All of the freedom.”

“Did it free you, killing him?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“What are you, five?”

“Answer the question! Did it free you?”

Kylo stares at her, panting, lips curled back from his teeth. Eyes very, very, dark and very, very Dark.

“It will. When I have killed them all. It will. Then I will finally be free.”

“No. Then you will become Snoke’s pawn.”

“I will become Snoke’s knight!”

“He will kill you the moment he is done with you.”

“No.” A slow smile spreads across Kylo’s face. “I will kill _him_. And rule the galaxy as the greatest Sith who ever lived.” The smile broadens, menacing. ”Vader made two mistakes. The first was saving Luke. Giving in to the Light within him, letting it weaken his power. The second was not killing the Emperor sooner. He could have ruled the galaxy as the greatest Sith who ever lived. He didn’t. _I_ will.”

“Why?” Rey asks.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why do you want to rule the galaxy?”

Kylo blinks at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because there are other things to want. Love. Family. Belonging. Peace.”

Kylo scoffs. “Oh, he has gotten to you, hasn’t he. But he seems to have neglected to mention the minor fact that Jedi are not allowed to love? To have connections, a family, to belong to anything but the Force and the Order?”

“That’s changed now. I do have a woman I love.”

Kylo raises his brows. “Oh, so you’re already attached? Hmm. And here I thought they’d sent you to be dickbait for me, with your—”

Rey’s lightsaber is humming under his chin. His is crossed beneath hers, holding her off. “You’re a monster.” Her voice is soft, venomous.

Kylo smiles. “Ah, so you do have feelings. Good to know. You’ll find your way to the Dark Side easily enough.”

Rey flicks her saber off and resheathes it. “You’ll never get me to turn. No matter how long or hard you fight.”

Kylo stares at her, expression fixed. “Mmm. See, that’s where you’re wrong. Everyone can break, Rey. Anyone can turn.” He smiles again, with his lips only, and leans in close. She stands her ground, ready to _shove_ if need be. “Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime.”

“I will never turn to the Dark Side.”

One long brow flicks up, down. “You’re as much his granddaughter as I am his grandson. His blood is strong in your veins, and the Darkness—” Kylo’s mouth curls into a smug grin. “The Darkness is strong in you.”

 _No. I will never turn. How dare you—_ For one scorching moment Rey sees herself striking, swinging, stabbing deep into his chest. The smell his flesh would make as it burned—She blinks. A long, quiet, inhale, and she’s back, finding the still pool within herself again.

There’s a strange flicker in Kylo’s eyes when she looks back up at him. “The Darkness is strong in me,” she murmurs at last. “But I am stronger.”

She’s up against the bulkhead, an invisible hand clenched around her throat. With a _shove_ , he’s stumbling backwards, snapping into a fighter’s crouch, braced and watchful. She lands neatly on the floor again, erect, ready.

“ _No_ ,” Kylo growls. “That’s what they always said. It’s not about _strength_. You have _no idea_ what I feel.”

“I do know! I feel the pull of the Dark Side.”

“ _No_ ,” Kylo points a long, black-gloved finger at her. “You. Have. No. Idea. You are just like the rest of them. Standing there, knowing what _you_ feel, assuming I feel the same. Luke was tempted for a _moment_. I have been pulled in by it all my _life_. _I HAVE NEVER BEEN A JEDI,_ Rey,” he roars. “I will never _be_ a Jedi. If there had been any way I could have been one, don’t you think I would have? I wanted to be a Jedi _so badly_.”

Kylo’s voice drops suddenly, surprising both of them. His hands claw back through his hair. “To be _safe_. To be the kind of person my family could look up to. Not to be _him_ —Vader, that horror story that my mother woke up to, screaming. My father, too. And Luke. He walked in their nightmares, all of them. He walked in mine, as well. But in mine, when he took off his mask—it was _my_ face I saw. _Mine_. I knew. I knew it would happen. That I wasn’t Light like them. That I had his blood, his anger, his Darkness. That I would never be a person they could love. Don’t you think I tried? Don’t you think I did everything I could possibly do to change myself? I _can’t change this,_ Rey. What you did—”

His throat closes for a moment, surprising both of them. Rey stands still. Very still. Waiting. Watching. He turns away and holds out his hand towards the edge of the console. It crumples into tectonic folds. “Stopping yourself,” he growls at last. “Refusing to give in to it. I. Can’t. Do. That.” He whirls back to her, arms raised in attack position. “Get out of here,” he bites. “You and your perfect Light. Get. Out.”

“You had a line to the Falcon’s comm all this time,” Rey says, voice low.

Kylo leans back, arms folded across his chest. “Yes.”

“You could have followed us, when we went to Ahch-To to get Luke.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was recovering from a few major injuries and completing my training with Snoke.”

Rey smiles. She’s rather proud of herself, Finn **_,_ ** and Chewie for inflicting those injuries. “You could have told Snoke,” she points out. “You could have come to get us. Kill Luke, the way you always wanted to, and capture me to be trained in the Dark side. So why didn’t you?”

Rey waits.

Kylo is still silent.

“ _Why didn’t you?”_

“Because it didn’t help!” Kylo roars. “It just made things worse. So much worse. The Light—I couldn’t get rid of it, Rey. Even after I killed him. It just got stronger.”

“So the Dark side didn’t give you what you wanted.”

Kylo freezes. “Of course it did.”

“What do you want, Kylo?” Rey asks softly.

Kylo turns away and stares out the viewport at the distant constellations. Rey watches his gloved hands clench. Unclench. Clench. He turns back to her. His eyes are large, dark, bottomless. Burning. “I want a lot of things.”

“Name them.”

“Power. Glory. Freedom.” He bites the words. She doesn’t flinch.

“And.”

Kylo blinks. He really would prefer to be wearing his mask for a conversation like this. He’s not quite sure what his face is doing now, or if he gave it permission to do that.

“I want to rule the galaxy.”

“And.”

“I want to be the greatest Sith who ever lived.”

“And.”

“And that’s it. That’s what I want.”

“Not all of it.”

“Mmm-hmm. I see. You read my mind for a moment and got everything you needed to know about me?”

Rey just watches him, silent.

“Get out,” Kylo snaps.

“Not until you answer the question.”

“I don’t have to answer your questions.”

Rey’s lips curl at the ends, smug as a Hutt in his palace. “That’s because you’re afraid of what you might say. Kylo.” She leans toward him. “What. Do. You. Want?”

Kylo blinks. _I want to rule the galaxy. I want to go home. I want to be all-powerful. I want to be safe. I want everyone to bow to me. I want to be loved. I want to know what I am. I want what I am to be an ok thing to be._

“Come with me,” he whispers. “We can kill Snoke. Take over the First Order. Rule the galaxy with the rest of the Knights of Ren. Kill everyone who stands in our way. Then no one will ever be able to threaten us. Or abandon you again. No one will care if we’re Light or Dark. We can create our own lives, on our own terms.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“No!” Kylo barks. “It sounds perfect. No one trying to kill or abandon or threaten or chastise or punish us. No one to be afraid of us, or disappointed, or sickened. Just _us_ , leading the Knights of Ren across the galaxy, pursuing our own ends.”

“Where _are_ the other Knights of Ren now?” Rey asks, struck by a sudden fear. If Kylo sent them to the Resistance, knowing she’d be away—

“Oh, they’re off fighting. Putting down a little uprising on Moonreach.”

Rey suppresses a smile at hearing of the Freedom Squadron’s success. Kylo catches the feeling anyway and glares at her. “Yes, we are well aware that your gang is behind this. It will be quashed soon, don’t worry.”

“Why aren’t you there, fighting with them?”

He smirks at her. “Because I have more important work to be doing right now. Snoke insisted that I stay to babysit you.”

Rey’s hands grow cold. “Snoke knows about this.”

“Of course Snoke knows about this! He’s known from the very beginning! Why do you think he let me take the little traitors from Hux? We’ve had our eyes on you for a long time. I knew there’d be something in Poe’s mind that would show me how to get to you. And I was right.”

“And once Snoke finds out that I’m not going to be turned?”

Kylo tilts his head and looks at her. “You’ll turn,” he says at last. “You’ll turn. There’s plenty of Dark in you. It can’t stay hidden forever.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rey snaps.

“Hmm.” Kylo’s lips curl up into a half-smirk. “Right. Of course. How did you find out that Luke was your father, by the way? It seemed like he was planning to keep that tidbit from you for the rest of your life. Not interested in claiming a scavenger brat for his daughter.”

Rey filters out the insult through her Kylo-dust scarf. “I asked him,” she replies calmly.

“Hmm.” Kylo tilts his head. “And then what?”

“And then he told me.”

“Mmm-hmm. And then what?”

Rey looks at her hands, looks up again. “And then I threatened him with my saber.”

Kylo smiles, low and smug. “Like I said. Plenty of Dark in you.” He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers over his chest. “Then what?”

“Then I shouted at him for a while.”

Kylo nods. “As one does, upon finding out that one’s father is an uncaring bastard. Then what?“

“Then I put down my lightsaber and we talked.”

“You talked.” Kylo’s voice is low and deadly.

“Yes, nerfherder, we talked. About him being my father, and having abandoned me, and now wanting to be a good father, and whatnot.”

“You talked,” Kylo repeats.

“Yes!”

“Not having a family was the greatest pain in your life.”

“I do not appreciate you—”

“I’m not just going to pretend I didn’t see it in your mind. I did. It would be idiotic to pretend otherwise.”

“Fine. Yes, it is the greatest pain in my life. Was.” Rey folds her arms across her chest. “Is. Your point?”

“My _point_ is that you found out that the man you had trusted as your master was actually your _father_ , _and_ had hidden this fact from you for two years, _and_ had abandoned you as a small child, _and_ had never come back for you, even though he swore he would!” Kylo runs a hand through his hair and paces across the room.

“Yes.” Rey’s lungs expand, contract. Inhale, exhale.

“And when you found all of this out, you pointed your lightsaber at him—completely reasonable—and then _sheathed it and proceeded to just TALK?”_

“Yes.”

The left control panel explodes in a burst of red sparks.

Rey blinks.

The crackling red of Kylo’s lightsaber snicks out with a hiss, leaving the room eerily silent.

“You talked.”

“Yes,” Rey repeats, bracing her feet. “We talked.”

Kylo turns back to her, arms spread wide with rage. “This is what I MEAN!” he roars. “I DON’T WORK THAT WAY! I can’t just _turn off_ feelings. I can’t just _be calm_. I _FEEL_ things!”

“I can see that.”

Kylo points the long handle of his lightsaber at her. “Do not mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you. Put that thing away.”

“ _This_ is also what I mean!” Kylo explodes again. “You’re the holo image of a perfect Lightsider. The ideal Jedi. Compartmentalize, calm down, center yourself. I bet you meditated on the idea that he was your father, didn’t you?”

Rey refuses to rise to the bait. “I did mention the fact that I pointed my lightsaber at him,  screamed a few times, and walked out, didn’t I?”

Kylo shrugs this aside. “Loud, rude, whatever. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“What? Of course not! Why would I—”

“Or maim any creature.”

“No! I—”

“Or even destroy any objects? Cut down a few trees? Knock down a maintenance shed or five?”

“No. Kylo. I went to meditate on it—”

The right control panel explodes in a burst of red sparks.

Rey sighs.

Kylo’s lightsaber snicks out with a hiss.

“You meditated.”

“I’m thinking of buying you some scavenged star destroyer sections so you can slash and burn a few non-essential parts when you feel the need to.”

“Shut up. How can you—how did you—”

“I think we’ve pretty well established that we work differently, Kylo. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“You know, I’m starting to get worried whenever you start repeating my words.”

_“Nothing wrong with that.”_

“Kylo—”

“What’s _wrong_ with that is that you were able to walk away. Walk. Away. Not hurt anyone. Not kill anyone.” His breath hitches. “ _Meditate_ on it, for—” He stops. “You still have a father.”

The central control panel explodes in a burst of red sparks.

Kylo walks out of the room.


	12. sometimes i dream i'm a jedi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _cry wild_  
>  _you have probably never cried wild._  
>  _but, you know what doors_  
>  _feel like._  
>  _you have_  
>  _an intimacy with doors_  
>  _that is killing you_  
>  —break 
> 
> (from _Salt,_ by Nayyirah Waheed)
> 
>  
> 
> (.......I just want to take a moment to repeat that this is NOT the sweet lil' Ben Solo redemption arc you (hopefully) weren't looking for, if you're worried about that. Kylo is a motherfucking asshole, not a woobie. I hope I've done justice to all of the characters in this fic. If I haven't, please let me know......)

Rey stares at the door for a long time, lost in thought. At last she turns to the viewports and presses her nose against the transparisteel, wishing to escape out into the stars. To some quiet empty planet where everything is simple.

With a tired sigh, she steps back and settles to the reflective tiles, back straight, palms open on her knees, eyes closed, breath even. This time she sinks further, faster, deeper into the Force, seeking out a particular bright spot she’s heard many stories about. Where…ah.

 _Found me, you have._ The voice is gleeful. Rey blinks through the misty forest, finally spotting the short green figure perched on a rock, leaning on his staff.

 _Master Yoda._ She bows.

_Mmph! Manners, this one has. Good to see in one so young. An important question have you, hmm?_

_Yes._ Rey can’t suppress a smile at Yoda’s insouciant tone.

_Sad, your family’s story is. Much pain and suffering they have felt. Even more they have caused. A reason, you seek? Hope? Difficult to find. Hmmph! Difficult, indeed. Come, come. Let me see you._

Rey picks her way through the bog. She’d always thought Luke exaggerated the awfulness of the swamps of Dagobah. Apparently not.

 _Answers, you seek,_ Yoda muses. _To bring this boy back to the Light. But consumed by the Dark side, he has been. Once you turn to the Darkness, you can never return to the Light._

_Master Yoda. Is there really no way to save him?_

He reaches out to her, pulls her chin towards him, and peers closely into first one eye, then the other. Rey holds still and waits for him to speak.

 _No, my child,_ Yoda says at last. _Dead, Ben Solo is. Now, throughout the galaxy, the Dark side Ren spreads. To stop his violent path, kill him, you must. The way of the Force, that is._

 _Master Yoda—_ Rey hesitates. _He insists that he was always Dark. And he clearly is now. But there’s Light in him too. I can see it, so clearly. And he didn’t become fully Dark until they decided to kill him. They killed him because he was too Dark, but then he became more Dark— I just wonder—_ Rey stops. _I wonder if that’s part of the problem. Having to be one, or the other. If he could never be fully Light, or fully Dark, where does that leave him?_

 _The way of the Force, that is._ Yoda taps his staff on the rock. _Light, Dark. Jedi, Sith._

Rey stares out into the bog. Wonders, yet again, what it would be like to live on a planet like this. Always enclosed in damp warmth, fecund mist. Living in the breath of the planet itself.

 _But Jedi and Sith are orders_ , she says at last. _Created by Force-_ users _. Not by the Force itself. Why does a power as strong as the Force need to be divided into two halves? Obi-Wan said that Anakin’s problem was thinking only in absolutes. But—but don't Jedi do the same? Light is good. Dark is bad._

Rey turns back to Yoda, hands sweeping through the air to make her point. _I grew up on Jakku. It had—both, of everything. Cold and dark. Good parts and bad. My family is the same, now. I love them. And I hate them. I don’t know what to do about them. But I know I will try to do something. Couldn’t—couldn’t it be the same for the Force? A moon needs both light and dark sides to make it a whole. What would happen if Kylo were allowed to use both Light and Dark? Combine them, somehow. Start a new Order—neither Jedi nor Sith. Just—_ Force. 

Yoda stares at her in silence. Rey stares back, tracing the lines of wisdom carved into his face.

 _Always children, it is,_ Yoda muses at last.

 _I’m not a child,_ Rey mutters.

 _Hmmph!_ Yoda snorts. _No. But wise, you are. For thousands upon thousands of years, the Jedi Order lasted. But now, gone it is._ He shrugs, grinning wickedly. _And dead I am. If the wisdom of the Force is to be preserved for the future…Hmmph. Perhaps necessary, change will be._

 _Do you think it could work?_ Rey asks.

Yoda cocks his head and peers at her. Rey’s reminded suddenly of Maz’s all-seeing eyes.

 _I don’t know,_ Yoda says at last. _Failed young Skywalker, the Council did. Failed to kill him. Failed to heal him. Do not fail this Ren, young Rey. Kill him, or heal him. But do not let him destroy another galaxy, like his grandfather._

Rey looks at him, silent. Finally, she nods. _I will do it._

_Heard about me, you have._

A slow smile spreads across Rey’s face. _Luke quotes you all the time, you know._

 _Hmmph!_ Yoda snorts. _Miss me, he does?_

 _Perhaps._ A smile pops unbidden to Rey’s face.

_He does. Of that, I am sure. And learned from your father, you have._

Rey’s smile calcifies in place. She nods, ducks her head against Yoda’s piercing gaze, and turns to leave.

 _Loves you, he does,_ the small green alien calls after her.

Rey stops short in the fetid swamp, mist swirling at her feet.

_Try to return to your family, you will not, my Rey._

She turns back to him. He smiles at her, placid, leaning on his knobbled stick, perched on a craggy rock above the mists of Dagobah.

 _You’re right._ She smiles. _I won’t_ try _. I_ will _return to them._

Yoda cackled and points his stick at her. _You, I like. Come back when you can, padawan Rey. Plenty to teach you, I have._

She bows to him, grinning despite herself. _I look forward to it._ The mists of Dagobah fold and ripple around her as she sinks back through the Force towards her own body.

By the time she arises from meditation, it’s deep in the middle of the night. _Night_ doesn’t mean very much in the middle of space, but it means enough to her body to drag at her limbs. She retreats to her room, closes the door—checks the console, finds it has no locking system in place, opens the console, reroutes a few wires, closes it again, checks the system—and smiles.

The great engines hum beneath her room as though the ship is alive. Rey closes her eyes, grabs a fistful of the sheets in one hand, and strokes the head of a tiny Rebel pilot doll.

 

 

 

The sudden surge of pain rips Rey straight out of the cantina before Jess can bite down on the tiny cloudberry Rey’s pressing between her lips. She’s on her feet and strapping on her belt—the only article of clothing she took off to sleep—before she even registers what’s happening. What—where—

There it is again. She paces quietly across the floor, draws her saber, orders the door between their rooms to open, and bursts inside, blue blade already swinging before her. Kylo sits straight up in bed as she enters. He raises a hand to freeze her in place.

Rey breaks his hold. “What happened?” She raises her saber to light the corners of the room. “I felt—what’s going on?”

“What are you doing in here?” he hisses. “Get out. Get out!”

Only the pale skin of his face is visible in the faint glow of her saber, split by the scar. She tilts her head at him. Looks around the empty room, quiet and still.

“I know what it’s like to have a nightmare,” Rey says at last. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Get. Out,” Kylo snaps. He raises a hand towards her as though to Force-shove her back through the door.

“If you need me to get out, I’ll leave. But if you’d like to talk, I can stay.”

He stares at her, mouth pulling in at the edges.

Rey stares back.

He says nothing.

She turns to walk out of the room. “Stay,” he mumbles.

She stops and turns back to him. Walks up the huge viewports. “Sometimes I dream I’m back on Jakku.” She looks out at the stars. “But the sands are empty—someone’s already scavenged everything. I fly over the desert for hours until my speeder runs out of fuel. And then I’m stranded, in the middle of nowhere, parched and starving, waiting to die.”

The stars form unfamiliar constellations, slowly transforming as the star destroyer makes its unhurried way across the galaxy. Behind her, Kylo’s breathing forms a quiet counterpart to the hum of the engines beneath their feet.

“Sometimes I dream I’m a Jedi,” Kylo whispers.

“That sounds like a good dream.”

“No. In the end, I always wake up.”

She looks back at him over her shoulder. He stares back at her, hair a boundless mass around his head. Covered wrist-to-neck-to-torso in First Order underblacks.

Something about the darkness begs to be honored with secrets.

“Sometimes I dream I’m a Darksider,” Rey says. “I kill the people I love and run to join Snoke. I can see the mask, the red blade. It’s so _real_ , Kylo. It’s so terrifyingly real.”

“I’ve had that dream, too,” he says. Her eyes have adjusted to the light now, enough to see the sunken bruises underneath his eyes. He doesn’t have to say it aloud: _that’s the dream I can’t wake up from._

“I used to dream about my family returning,” Rey murmurs. “And then wake up. Alone. Then I dreamed about Master Luke finding my real family, somewhere in the galaxy. Or adopting me.” She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Now I can’t dream about either anymore.” She clears her throat. “Kylo. What do you want to dream about?”

He's silent. Rey closes her eyes and remembers the vastness of the night in Jakku. The way the stars would disappear above dense clouds of wind-blown sand, out of reach. The stars are so bright here, so clearly visible. Just as distant.

“Sometimes I dream I’m home,” he murmurs at last. “Sometimes I dream I’m sitting in Snoke’s throne. Sometimes I dream I’m free. Sometimes I dream I’ve never had the Force. Sometimes I dream I’m playing holochess with Chewie. Sometimes I dream I have an apprentice of my own. Sometimes I dream that I’m in a tiny escape pod, hurtling through the galaxy. But the moment I hit the ground, I wake up.”

“You can leave,” Rey whispers. “If you want to. Free yourself.”

Kylo shakes his head. “Not as long as Snoke’s alive.”

“Then let’s kill him.”

His lips curl up. It’s not a smile. “Not possible.”

She cocks her hands on her hips.

“And anyway. The power, and glory. Of being his Knight. I’d never give that up.”

“Even to be free?” Rey asks.

He’s silent. She watches the stars shift around their vast ship.

“Leave this room,” he says. “Now.”

The door slides quietly shut behind her.

 

 

 

“You never asked me what I did after.” Rey paces the length of the control room that morning, tense and bursting out of her skin.

Kylo looks up from his datapad. “After what?”

“After meditating. After Luke told me.”

His glower might have been impressive, if she were not well accustomed to it already. “Back to that again, are we?”

“You should ask me.”

He snorts. “I don’t have to. I already know the answer. You let go of your pain, found peace in the Force, skipped happily back to the base—”

“For someone who wants so badly to be seen for who you are, you do a really awful job of trying to see other people for who _they_ are.”

He tilts his head and considers her for a moment. “If you’re going to tell me that you did something rude, and are therefore not the perfect Jedi-child-padawan I think you are, I’m sorry, but you’re still not going to surprise me. We’ve already established that you damaged neither sentient beings, non-sentient beings, property, nor greenery. What’s left? You went back and shouted at Luke some more? You went to a target range and shot something? You punched a tree? Rey. You don’t have to try to impress me, you know. It’s not going to change anything. You’re not Dark. Fine. I know that.”

“I left him.” Rey looks at him, face numb. “I couldn’t face him anymore. Couldn’t talk to him. Couldn’t train with him.”

“Oh, you’re not on speaking terms now. Oh no. That’s such a shame. I’m sure you’ll excuse me for not feeling sorry for you in the slightest. As someone whose fits of rage have ended in—” His mouth works, closes. “Badly. Ended badly. I do not feel sorry for you. I assume this is why you came to me.”

“I came to you to save Poe,” Rey snaps. “He’s one of my best friends, and he means the world to Finn. I couldn't let you—hurt him. But.” She looks down to her lap, pulls at the stitching on her vest. Looks up again. “I am never going to turn to the Dark side. There is nothing you can do to change me. I just—I wanted—I couldn’t stand being around him, anymore. I needed to leave. To take a break. To figure out if I could still be his student, when I get back. If there’s a way to be around him without thinking of—thinking of—”   

Rey puts her head in her hands, throat aching. She’s never felt so _alone_ , so alone in all the galaxy. She’s always been able to think about her family coming back. Doesn’t matter how ludicrous the scenarios—rescuing a village from the First Order, only to find her family among the grateful villagers—stopping to refuel the Falcon, dropping into a nearby cantina for a meal, finding her family looking up at her from the table by the window—seeing her family walk out of a freighter onto the Resistance base, having recognized her in a Resistance recruitment holo-vid. None of those will happen now. She doesn’t even get the chance to _dream_ about it any more. The pain is crushing, crushing, debilitating, she can’t—she can’t—  

“It didn’t work,” Rey says suddenly. “The meditating. I couldn’t just _let go_ of the pain.” Rey doesn’t want to be telling him this, can’t cry now, not in front of him, can’t show weakness, she can’t, she _can’t_ , but she can’t stop the words anymore. “He _abandoned_ me, Kylo.”

She’s on her feet before she even realizes, pacing back and forth before the window. “There were so many things he could have done. He could have cared for me, somehow. But he didn’t. He turned his back on me. He—I— _how could he? How could he?_ I can’t—I can’t—I—he—” Her voice breaks. “And now he’s the only one who can teach me, and I need to learn. But I can’t—I can’t _stand_ to be around him now. I can’t look at him without wanting to scream at him. Fight him. I— _I CAN DO ANYTHING_ ,” she growls. “I _had to_ , to survive on Jakku. To get away from you. To save Finn. To become a Jedi. But I can’t—”

Rey punches the transparisteel viewport. “ _I can’t forgive him,”_ she whispers. “I can’t let go of the pain. I can’t get it out of my head.” She claws at her tightly bound hair.

“I’m sorry.”

Rey whirls at the voice, much closer than she’d expected. He’s standing a few feet away, hands empty at his sides, eclipse-dark eyes awkwardly flitting away, towards her, away again.

Hugs. Hugs are what people do in these situations, isn’t it? Kylo’s pretty sure that’s what supposed to happen now. And by pretty sure, he means he knows damn well that’s what people are supposed to do when they see someone else’s day or life go belly-up. He’s not quite sure if it’s something he’s ever done, or something he’s really capable of doing, or if she’ll slash his arm off if he tries. But he wants her on his side. And she is lonely. So he should replace her family. This is what families do, so: he will do it.

And if she does try anything, he’s just as quick as she, isn’t he? He’ll be able to draw his lightsaber against her fast enough to prevent any real damage. Just as a precaution, however, he reaches forward more with his left hand, leaving his right arm free in case of any sudden movement. She draws back slightly as he approaches, the first gesture of fear he’s seen from her since she freed herself on Starkiller. Maybe he should make himself more clear? “Do you—” he starts. “Do you—want a hug?”

Rey looks him up and down. Her eyes snag on the half-curled fingers of his right hand, angled towards his lightsaber. Slowly she unclasps her hands from her sides. “Ok.”

Carefully, Kylo reaches out again. Both hands now. She reaches out towards him. Cautiously they meet in the middle, wrap their arms around the other, and remind themselves to keep breathing.

Rey leans her head on his chest. He’s a full head taller than her, but—given his permanent hunch—it's actually not as much of a difference as she had expected. It’s definitely not a comforting hug, not like Jess or Leia or Finn or Poe or Chewie. It’s more like trying to hug C-3PO, in fact, but the mere fact that he offered astonishes her.

How does one disengage from hugs? Is there a protocol for timing? Shouldn’t this be instinctive? Kylo doesn’t really want to think about the last time he was hugged, or the one who was hugging him, before flying home in the—he _really_ doesn’t, oh Force, he really doesn’t. She must sense the sudden flare of hurtgriefanger in him, because she disengages first and steps back towards the window with a brief smile. “Thank you.”

Kylo nods, still a little lost for words. Hugs. Cousins. It’s—not an entirely unpleasant thing to have discovered, at the weary old age of thirty-one. He doesn’t really know what to do with his arms now. They hang by his sides, empty again. He clasps the handle of his lightsaber, just to have something to do with one hand. When he looks up at her again, he finds she’s done the same, an unconscious gesture towards safety.

He laughs.

Rey looks up at him, follows the angle of his eyes, catches the joke, and laughs. Kylo turns to leave the room, suddenly uncomfortable again. She’s not laughing _at_ him, she’s not, but the hug—her shouting—it’s a bit much. His anger is whirling again, making the room tilt and spin a bit around him.

Before he can leave, a bright _thrum_ draws him around again. Rey cocks her head at him, waiting. Grins at him, a bright fierce dare.

 _Take this pain from me,_ Rey thinks _._ She doesn’t say it, out loud or in the Force, but the feeling throbs in her head so loud he must catch some glimpse of it. _Take it. Bring me back to something I understand._

Shuddering _crackle-hum._ Kylo steps back towards her, watching the advance of unstable red towards tense blue. One step more, then another—and then they’re sparring again, light and strength and grace and dark, whirling around the room.

 _This_ is where they belong, Kylo thinks. Not in any family that does or doesn’t want them. Not under the thumbs of Supreme Leaders and Generals and Jedi Masters. _Here_. Free. Slashing their sabers. Hurtling through space. Leaping and spinning and lunging and _laughing._

He’s not sure he’s ever been as happy as he is when he fights her.

 _Join me,_ he thinks to her. _Join me and we will conquer the galaxy._ It’s not a line. It’s the _truth_ in his heart right now. They are, right now, two of the most powerful people in the galaxy. If they joined forces, they would be unstoppable. They could kill Snoke. Take over the First Order. Build the galaxy in their own image.

 _Come home with me,_ Rey sends back to him. _Come home to the family that loves you and be free of this. Be safe again._

He snarls and presses his blade against hers. _No. You will never be safe with them. They lied to you._ He shoves in harder, angling his blade toward her shoulder to force her to duck away. _They were going to kill me._ She rolls beneath his saber and comes up swinging, shielded by a whirring blue haze.

 _They love you,_ Rey growls back.

 _HOW CAN YOU STILL BELIEVE THAT?_ he shouts. _They. Lied. To. You._

Rey falters back beneath the power of his blows, hammering down onto her saber. He advances to the windows, beating her down with strike after strike.

 _Center. Center, Rey._ It’s not a Force-voice, it’s just a memory—words repeated often enough to weld themselves to the core of her mind. Repeated by a father who loves her, as much as he hurt her.

 _They did abandon me,_ she growls. _They did, and it hurt me. very badly. But it’s not the end._ She bares her teeth at him, slides her blade out from beneath his, and spins around his side to slash towards his unguarded back. _It’s never the end._ Their blades meet with a venomous _fzzt_ and she presses her momentary advantage, flush with renewed strength. _They want to try to make it right now. So do I. So we’ll figure it out. Once I return._

 _And then they will abandon you again,_ Kylo snarls. _The moment they see Darkness in you. And then you will be ALONE, all ALONE, for the rest of your life, all over again and again and again—_

 _NO,_ she shouts. _They regret it. They are sorry. They will not do it again. To me, or to you._

 _Why do you still trust them?_ he roars.

 _Because I want to._ Rey presses down on his blade, closer and closer to his saber-hilt. _Because I want to have a family. So I choose to return. Come with me, Kylo. Come back to them._

_THEY WERE GOING TO KILL ME!_

_They never would have, Kylo. They made_ one bad decision, _and they regret it_ so badly _._

 _You have no idea what they think,_ Kylo snarls. _You didn’t even know they had—_

 _I know that when Luke and Leia talk—or even_ think _—about you, they are full of such grief and shame and guilt. I never understood it, not fully. Not until you told me what they did. But it’s_ overwhelming _, Kylo. The grief they feel. Come back with me, and feel it for yourself._

Her shoulders burn with the force of his blows. She jumps away, around his back again, forces him to spin to meet her rapid strikes. _Kylo._ Her Force-voice shakes. _They’re my_ family _. I HAVE A FAMILY._ He’s retreating under her power, suddenly outmatched. _For the first time I can remember, I HAVE A FAMILY. I’m not going to throw it away. No matter how much it hurts now. We’ll repair things between us._

_You could, too._

He stares down at her, brandy-dark eyes _wanting_ and _mistrusting_ and _needing_ and _yearning._ There is no strength behind his blade now, nor behind hers. Blue throbs against red, heating their faces with the fierce burn of the powerful lasers. _They want to see you. They want to talk to you. They want to apologize._

With a sudden burst of energy, Kylo leaps back out of her reach and cuts out his lightsaber. He stares at her, chest heaving. She extinguishes hers just after his, leaving the air silent and endless around them.

_Give it a try. Please. They love you. So much._

“No,” Kylo says, but there’s no power behind his voice, either. She waits. He stares at her, shoulders hunched in the permanent slump of a man too tall for his own good.

“Just a holocall,” she murmurs. “One holocall. You still have that encrypted line to the _Falcon?"_

He blinks down at her. “…yes,” he says at last.

“Do you want to try it?”

He stares down at her, motionless. Finally, he nods, one small jerk.

“Ok,” she says, very soft. “Ok. You can do this.”

His knuckles are white around his lightsaber.

“Is the line set up?” she asks.

He jerks with his chin towards the now-repaired console in the center of the room. “There.”

She steps towards it, turns it on, and resets the holo to transmit along the last-used line. She scans the code—all of the usual encryption folds are there, along with a host of others. It’s the same as when she used it to talk to Jess. She presses the bright silver button on the console to open the line.

“Hello?” she calls. “Hello?”

A distant Wookiee roar brings an instinctive grin to her face. “I’m still fine, Chewie. I can handle myself, remember? Can you bring Leia here for me? I’d like to talk to her.”

Kylo rattles nervously around the back of the room as they wait. Rey stands tall before the holoprojector, holding tight to her lightsaber for strength.

Leia darts into view, staring intently at Rey through the comm. “Rey! You’re all right?”

“Yes!” Rey smiles at her. “I’m fine. And everyone there?

“Yes, Rey.” Leia smiles back. “Everyone is fine. What did you need?”

“Kylo wants to talk to you.”

Leia reaches blindly out for the arms of the chair behind her and stumbles back into it, staring at Rey through the holo. “He what,” she states, voice flat.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“He—Ben—” She presses a hand to her lips.   

“Do you want to talk to him?” Rey asks.

Even through the wavering blue lines, the weary tension around Leia’s eyes is clear. “He’s my son, Rey,” she answers at last, voice heavy. “I will always want to see him. No matter—no matter what.”

Rey smiles. “Good. Wait here, then.” Her glowing blue-robed figure disappears from Leia’s holocomm, but the sound continues to transmit, echoing in her private office.

“Here, come talk to her—No! Take that thing off.”

Silence.

“It’s fine.” A low, metallic voice.

“No, it’s not! Take it off. I’m not letting you past with that—Kylo.” Rey sighs. “I know you’re scared—”

“I’m not scared!”

“Take. It. Off. She wants to see your _face_ , you nerfherder.”

“I don’t care. I don’t even want to talk to her in the first place—”

“You said you did!”

“I changed my mind!”

“Coward.”

“I am not a—” Thud of hand on flesh. Scuffling. Small grunts. Leia puts her head in her hand.

“Kylo—stop it! You’re being childish. She’s waiting for you. Don’t waste her time. Just take it off and go talk—”

“You are not in charge of me!”

“What are you afraid of?” Rey shouts at him.

“I’m not! But I’m not going to—”

More scuffling. Leia rubs her forehead, thinking loud grateful thoughts for the continued absence of the low hum of a lightsaber.

“Look, nerfherder. You see that big silver button right there?”

“…yes…”

“If you push that, the transmission will end.”

“I know how a holocall works, you—”

“Good! Then if you need to end the call, end it! Ok?”

Silence. In Leia’s mind, a faint pubescent fuzz softens the stony curl of his upper lip.

A distant thud. “Kylo—”

Leia jolts back in her seat as the blue holo-lines suddenly reappear, wrapped around a figure dressed in tight black lines, masked with steel.

“ _Ben?”_ Leia whispers. Her stomach swoops through negative Gs, threatening to leave her altogether.

“Hello.” The voice is stiff, distorted through layers of vocalizer and holotransmitter and vast space.

“Oh, _Ben._ ” Sixteen years. _Sixteen years._ Leia presses her fingers to her mouth. “How—how are you?” She’s not crying. She’s not going to cry. Not now. Not—

_How are you? Really? Is he actually five again, forced to play cassius-tea party with the little girl next door? He smashed the tea set then, and he’d really like to do so again now._

_How are you?_

He doesn’t have an answer.

Leia’s oddly comforted by his silence. She’s not quite sure if she’d be able to manage pleasant small talk with her long-lost patricidal son, the one whose loss will always rest entirely on her own shoulders. She blinks, blinks rapidly, blinks hard, gives up. Through blurred eyes, she watches him. “Come home, Ben,” she pleads. “We miss you. _I_ miss you.”

He shakes his head, silent.

“Please.” Her voice cracks.

 _I’M SORRY._ The words are so loud in his head, he wonders if she can hear them. _I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY YOU WERE GOING TO KILL ME HOW COULD YOU HOW COULD YOU I WAS FIFTEEN AND IT HURT IT HURT SO BADLY EVERYTHING HURT AND I COULDN’T BE A JEDI AND I COULDN’T JUST BE BEN AND I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I COULDN’T STOP BEING DARK AND I COULDN’T CONTROL IT AND I COULDN’T MAKE IT GO AWAY AND I WAS BROKEN AND WRONG AND DOOMED AND SCARED AND ALONE AND_

“I—” His voice cuts off.

She waits a moment.

“I just—”

Even through the vocalizer, she can hear the waver in his voice. She waits for him to finish. He says nothing, frozen in place, black-gloved fingers trembling—or is that the static of the holo?

Silence.

She leans towards him, voice low and pleading. “Ben. Take off that mask. _Please_.”

His hand flashes out and hits the button. The blue lines wink out into empty air. Leia lowers her head into her hands.

Kylo stabs his lightsaber down through the glowing holocomm and screams.

 

 

 

“You’re a fucking coward!” Rey shouts at him.

“You don’t normally bother stating the obvious. Why start now?”

“Turn it back on! Kylo. It’s your own mother!”

“Whose hu—” Kylo stops. His hands clench. Unclench. He jerks his robe tighter around his shoulders, relishing the comforting solidity of his leather belt and boots. “Yes. It is. I am aware of that. Are there any other obvious facts you’d like to point out, or may I resume my post on the bridge?”

“You only get like this when you’re upset. You’re an adult, Kylo, act like it—”

“I AM ALWAYS UPSET!” Kylo roars. “GET USED TO IT!”

Rey folds her arms across her chest. “You’re Dark-siding again.”

“I am—Rey—” Kylo swings his lightsaber up and around in a brilliant red arc. It satisfies something raw inside him, so he continues with the kata, sparring and leaping and swirling and stabbing. He finishes with a soaring jump and double somersault above her head, landing behind her back. She spins to face him.

“I am a Darksider!” he snarls. “And I don’t want to talk to her!”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

“Because you’re afraid.”

“Stop trying to manipulate me!” Kylo shouts at her. “I don’t want to talk to her. And I do not have to.”

“Kylo—” Rey stops short, suddenly thrown. An tight coil of shame starts to wind through her stomach. “I…I’m sorry,” she says, quieter. “I—no. You’re right. I shouldn’t have tried to manipulate you.”

Kylo instinctively jabs toward her with his still-buzzing lightsaber—then straightens, startled, as her words sink in.

 _When’s the last time anyone ever apologized to you?_ Rey feels even smaller than before. “I’m _sorry_ , Kylo,” she repeats. “I mean it. I shouldn’t have baited you.” She motions behind her. “The channel’s still there, on the transmitter. If you ever want to talk to her. I won’t push you again.”

Kylo backs up a step, suspicious. “Good,” he says at last. “Then.” He backs up another step. “I’m going. Goodbye.” The door to his chambers hisses shut behind him.

Rey turns back to stare at the blank space above the holocomm. Knocked from her careful center, she sinks down to the cold floor to meditate until she can find it again. Eventually, however, other pressing needs call, so she enters Kylo’s room in order to pass through to her own and use her fresher.

Kylo is not in his chambers. The door to his fresher is closed.

Rey slides down the wall beside it, folds her arms over her knees, tips her head back against the wall, and waits.

 

 

 

“I know you’re there,” Kylo says at last.

Rey shrugs.

“What are you doing, babysitting me?”

Rey tilts her head. “Guarding you?”

“From what?” Kylo snorts. “I am an experienced Force-user, you know. I doubt I will get into any serious danger on my _own damn ship_.”

“I know.” Rey props her head on her chin, unruffled. “Doesn’t protect against everything, though.”

Kylo is silent.

The door bashes into her side, clipping her ankles. Rey slides to her feet. His face is blotchy, streaked with red. He stares down at her.

Rey looks up at him. “I know what it’s like to feel alone,” she says.

“You have no idea what it’s like to not be able to talk to your mother because you haven’t seen her in sixteen years because she decided to kill you so you decided to kill her and therefore you defected to the opposite side and have been waging war against her side for those aforementioned sixteen years and you haven’t managed to rout her yet but you did manage to kill her husband, your father.”

Rey blinks. Blinks again. And…again.

“No,” she manages to say at last, nodding slowly. “You’re right. I don’t. Um.” She draws a deep breath. “Tell me?”

He backhands her out of his way, or he would have if she hadn’t ducked him and grabbed his wrist, trapping it in front of her.

“You can’t run from this, Kylo.”

“I thought you were going to stop telling me what to do.”

“I’m not,” she hisses. “I’m stating the facts. You want me to help you kill Snoke. I won’t help you unless you release Poe. In order to release Poe, you’ll need to go back to the Resistance base. In order to return, you’ll have to talk to her. You can’t run away forever.”

He stares down his long nose at her, impassive.

“You have no idea how long I can run,” he says at last. With a violent jerk, he frees his arm and whirls out of the room.


	13. find a way

A shining lake, ringed by mountains. Sloping green, iridescent flowers, dark-spiking trees. Even in the Force, the life-blood of this place is heady and rich. Rey spins in place for a moment, open-mouthed in wonder. _This_ is a place she could love.

_Beautiful, isn’t it?_

Rey whirls on her heel. A young man leans against the stone balcony of an expansive villa, staring down at her. _A place to love,_ he continues _. A place to call home. A place to be free._

He vaults over the railing to join her down by the water. _Glad to be out of the desert?_

Rey laughs, startled. _You have no idea. But wait—I suppose you do, don’t you?_ This is—oh, Force. She can feel it deep in her gut, the sharp tug of recognition.

He shrugs. _Unfortunately, yes. But I only spent nine years in one. You lived in sand for almost twice that long._

Rey mock-shudders, grinning. _Don’t remind me._

_You look like her._

Rey’s smile drops. She turns to him. His eyes trace her features as closely as Luke’s had, finding beloved lines in a new face. _I wish you could have met her._

 _…What was she like?_ Rey whispers at last.

His eyes catch hers, fill with grief. _Beautiful. Like you. Strong, and brave, and smart. Also like you. She saw—_ He presses his fingers to his mouth and looks away across the lake.

Rey sees with a start that his right hand is bright metal, not yet gloved in black. When he glances back and finds her staring, his mouth quirks up. _This is where, and when, I chose to rest, in the Force,_ he murmurs. _This is the first—and last—place I ever felt at home. Before—before any of the rest of it happened. When I was able to be free. To love her without hiding it. To enjoy, to feel safe, to feel whole. Even on the Death Stars, when I closed my eyes to sleep, I imagined myself back here, back then, with her._

_You killed her._

_You don’t hold back, do you?_ Anakin’s eyes burn like Luke’s.

 _Why did you do it?_ Rey growls.

_First of all, she didn’t die by my hand. She chose to die. Obi-Wan told me what actually happened, when we met again in the Force._

_You’re splitting hairs._

_Yes. I am._ Anakin turns to face her, mouth a thin hard line. _If you abused the one you loved most in all the world because you were being torn apart by forces beyond your control—you, too, would find it a comfort to avoid your guilt by splitting hairs._

Rey holds his gaze. _You’ve had a lot of time to think about this, haven’t you._

 _Not enough._ Anakin’s eyes are wearier than Luke’s. _Never enough._

_Even if you didn’t actually kill her, you were still responsible for her death._

_Millions of deaths._

_Do you regret it?_

_No._

Rey folds her arms across her chest. _I don’t believe you._

_Good._

Rey blinks.

Anakin’s lips press into a bitter half-smile. If Rey squints really, really hard, she can see waves of black hair and an extraordinarily large nose sneering down at her above that not-quite-a-smirk. Rey can’t _stand_ that smirk. She can’t _stand_ his silence. She can’t _stand_ the thought of the incomprehensible damage this man has caused to the galaxy, this man whose blood is now hers. She can’t stand _any_ of this any longer.

 _WHY DID YOU TURN?_ Rey shouts at him. _HOW COULD YOU?_

 _I HAD NO CHOICE!_ Anakin roars back, clearly glad to break the fragile pseudo-peace between them. _I could not be what they wanted me to be. A_ Jedi _. Perfectly peaceful, perfectly calm, willing to obey every order, even if I did not believe in it myself—that’s not who I am, Rey! I can’t be a Jedi. The Dark side pulled me in. I let it. I found myself in it. Power. Glory. Freedom. Everything I needed, it gave to me._

 _Did you say this to Kylo?_ Rey asks, dreading the answer.

 _Yes. He called to me. He was afraid. Trapped. In pain. Going mad. They were going to kill him because he could not be a Jedi. Same as Obi-Wan was going to kill me. It’s not FAIR, Rey! They tell themselves that it’s merciful to kill one in order to spare many. It’s reasonable, it’s justice, it’s compassionate. But it’s_ not _, Rey. It’s NOT. What about that_ one _?_

 _What about the many?_ Rey screams back. _He destroyed so many innocent lives. He killed his own father. He almost killed one of my friends, and tortured another. Doesn’t their pain matter just as much as his?_

Kylo _didn’t cause the pain, Rey._ Anakin bites off the words. _The_ Jedi _did, for denying who he was. For telling him that he must work harder, try harder, to be something he could never be. As though he was not already working as hard as he possibly could. If they cannot stomach the consequences of their actions, they deserve to feel pain._

_But it’s not the fault of the Jedi that Kylo killed so many! It’s his own actions. He must take responsibility for them._

_HE DID NOT CHOOSE TO FALL TO THE DARK SIDE, REY,_ Anakin shouts. _NEITHER DID I. I tried to be a better Jedi, Rey, don’t you know how hard I tried—but nothing worked. I couldn’t stop being afraid. I couldn’t stop being angry. The Light side had no room for me. My home is in the Darkness._

_But you found your Light, at the end. You saved Luke. You brought balance to the galaxy again._

_Some balance!_ In one smooth move, Anakin picks up a rock and hurls it into the lake. The Force-water does not even ripple as he turns back to face her. _Not thirty years later and you’re already fighting another galactic war. If finding a little bit of Light was all it took, there’d be peace and balance throughout the galaxy by now. Even Kylo has some Light in him. Doesn’t help anything._

_He says it tears him apart._

_YES._ Anakin’s Force-voice trembles. _That’s_ exactly _what it feels like. Never fully one. Never fully the other. Trying to hold onto the Light. Feeling it slip out of your grasp. Sinking into the Darkness. Feeling it begin to choke you._

Anakin presses his fingers to his mouth again, turns away from her. A bird swoops low overhead, high again, away across the water. The sun glitters over a series of small white waves cresting across the lake. Across the lake, water foams up around a sheer waterfall. Rey runs a finger up and down her lightsaber in thought.

 _That’s my old lightsaber._ He’s turned back to her again, eyes older than his evanescent form.

_Yes._

_A beauty, isn’t it?_

Rey smiles. _Yes. Been through a lot, this one._

 _Yes. It has._ Anakin looks it over for a moment. _That’s the one Luke held when I cut off his hand._

It’s several long moments before Rey closes her mouth. She knows this, Luke’s told her the story, but—that voice—that total lack of regret— _Aren’t you sorry about that?_ she asks at last, trying and failing to keep her voice level. _Cutting off your own son’s hand? Trying to kill him?_

Anakin regards her for a moment. _Shouldn’t Obi-Wan be sorry about trying to kill me? About keeping my children from me all my life?_

_That’s no reason to turn to—_

_No._ Anakin’s completely unperturbed. _It isn’t. But it is a point._

 _Look._ Rey turns to face him, hands on her hips. _This isn’t about scoring points. This is about figuring out what to do with Kylo._

 _Figuring out—_ Anakin snorts. _You’re no better than the Jedi Council. Have you ever considered actually asking him? Rather than making decisions about the rest of his life, behind his back?_

_Have you?_

_I showed him the Dark side. What it was, how to reach it. To save him from going mad._

_But the Dark doesn’t work for him either! He’s still going mad!_ Rey’s hand clenches tight over the ancient lightsaber. _There must be another way._

Anakin’s face hardens. _What do you mean?_

_Luke wants me to turn Kylo back into a Jedi by helping him find his Light again. But both of you say that will never work, not for any length of time. Obi-Wan wants me to kill him before he causes more destruction. But both of you say that it’s not right to kill him for a crime he never chose to commit. I can’t just leave and let Kylo continue in the Darkness, killing innocent people—people I love. And I don’t think he even wants to. Not anymore. He won’t say so outright, but—he’s clearly not happy with the way things are. It’s not working anymore. So there must be another option. A middle way._

_There isn’t._ Anakin turns away from her, bitter. _Don’t you think the entire Jedi Council would have come up with a way to fix me, if there was a way I could have been fixed?_ He runs a hand through his close-cropped hair, twists his braid around one long finger.

 _The Jedi and their_ laws, he scoffs _. Whenever I was in pain_ , _their only answer was to let go of the feeling. But I can’t just_ let go _! I_ tried _, Rey. I tried so hard. But I couldn’t be what they wanted me to be. The Jedi think the Sith are evil._ I _think the Jedi are evil. Their self-righteousness blinds them to their faults. In the end, they turned me to the Dark side as much as the Dark side itself did, Rey._

 _But—_ Rey stops short, caught off-balance. It takes her a moment to turn this over in her mind. _What if that’s it?_ she asks slowly.

 _What’s it?_ he snaps.

_What if both sides are wrong? You couldn't stay in the Light, and there was no way to use the Darkness and still be a Jedi, so—so the Jedi themselves were actually part of what caused you to turn. And your only alternative was to become a Sith, even though that meant denying the Light still in you. Which means that the Sith were part of what trapped you so far from your own Light. If the only options are Jedi and Sith, you—and Kylo—have an impossible choice. Caught between. Neither-nor._

_Yes,_ Anakin waves an impatient hand. _That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you._

_I just visited Yoda, you know._

Anakin eyes her suspiciously. _Old green stump._

 _Wise one, though._ Rey doesn’t take the bait. _I asked him if maybe—maybe there’s a way to combine the two orders. Jedi_ and _Sith. Light_ and _Dark. But he didn’t know whether it would be possible._

_It’s not._

_Why not?_ Rey asks.

Anakin looks at her. _Because—_

He blinks.

She smiles. _There’s no Council anymore. No Darth anything. Just Luke, and me, and Kylo._

_And Snoke, and the rest of the Knights of Ren._

Rey shrugs. _How many of those knights also feel trapped? How many of them might join us against Snoke? We could_ win this war _, Anakin,_ she presses, throat tight. _Bring peace back to the galaxy. Start an Order that uses both Light_ and _Dark. So no more Force-sensitives have to choose. It could_ work _, Anakin. This could really work!_

He regards her coolly. Tilts his head.

_Anakin. Will you help us?_

One brow quirks up _. He’s much more polite than you are, you know. I hadn’t realized we were on a first-name basis._

Rey ducks her head. _Sorry. Grandfather. Will you help us?_

He laughs and whacks at her arm. _Kidding. Please don’t. I know I’m old and dead. You don’t have to remind me._

_Would you prefer I call you Darth Vader?_

Anakin squints at her suspiciously. _I can’t quite tell if you’re joking, but no, please. I never chose that name. Anakin is fine, girl._

 _Rey_ , she corrects him fiercely. _I’m a_ woman _. Not a girl._

He looks at her for a moment. Slowly his mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin. _You know, I’m sorry we never got to meet in person. I think I would have liked you._ He blinks hard, eyes glittering. _She would have, too._

_Tell me about her. Please._

He’s _stunning_ when he smiles.

 

 

 

Rey paces between the ruined control panels. The star destroyer is dark and cold as ever, eerily _silent_ in a way the Falcon will never be. She wants to sit in a cockpit again, her hands on the controls. She wants to look out a window and see solid ground. She wants to talk to Luke. To Leia. To Jess, and Poe, and Finn. She wants this to work. She _needs_ this to work. _Please_ , _Force—_

Kylo slams in with his usual storm of black robes and angry boots. “What?” he snaps. “What’s so important? I was in the middle of a crucial meeting.”

_Hello, Kylo._

Kylo whirls. For a moment he just stands there, transfixed. He reaches out a hand as though to touch. Drops the hand, utterly lost. Falls to his knees. Bows his head.

“Grandfather,” he murmurs, metallic voice choked. “Thank you for coming to me. I have been eager to see you again.”

Anakin’s glowing blue ghost lounges in one of the chairs behind the newly wrecked console, feet propped up on the durasteel shards. _Kylo._ He looks his grandson up and down and shakes his head. _Take that awful mask off._

Kylo looks up as though about to object—then obeys, silent, fingers shaking.

Anakin swings his legs down off the ruined console, paces closer, traces down Kylo’s face with evanescent fingers. _You’ve grown stronger in the Force since we last met. Taller, too. I didn’t think it was possible. Not your grandmother’s fault, that’s for sure. Nor your mother’s. Mine, most likely. And the Force, too, that’s probably my influence._ He looks about as smug as a flickering translucent long-dead figure can.

Kylo ignores this, unable to process small talk when faced with his long-ago savior. His eyes are wide, wide, _wider_ , locked onto Anakin as though he holds the secrets to the galaxy—or at least to intergalactic power. “Thank you for showing me how to wield the Dark side,” he manages at last, hoarse. “Will you—will you show me again? Please. Show me how to hold onto the Darkness, so I am not seduced again by the Light.”

Anakin folds his arms across his chest, eyes hooded. _Why?_

“Why do I want to hold onto the Dark side?” Kylo asks, confused.

_Yes._

“Because—because it holds power. Glory. Freedom. All of the things that you showed me.”

 _I see._ One brow quirks up. _Is it working? Are you powerful? Glorious? Free?_

Kylo straightens his shoulders and raises his chin. “I will be.”

 _Hmm._ Anakin leans forward with an air of silent menace. _Do you think I was?_

Kylo blinks. “Yes?”

Anakin snorts. _No, you don’t. You think I was stupid to not kill the Emperor and rule the galaxy by myself._

Space-dark eyes flicker, then resolve. “You’re right. I do.”

Anakin shrugs. _You’re probably right. I might have been able to sooner, had I tried. Do you know why I didn’t?_ he asks. Without waiting for an answer, he continues, _Because the Emperor had as tight a grasp on me as the Council ever did. I traded one master for another, Kylo. Dove into the Darkness, then found it wasn’t enough. Do you understand?_ He’s leaning down towards the long-nosed face now, insistent. _As long as you follow their rules, you’ll never be free. Kylo. What do you want?_

Kylo’s eyes flick to Rey’s, back again.

He leans forward toward Anakin, trembling from head to toe. “Lord Vader,” he says.

_Anakin._

Kylo blinks.

“Anakin,” he tries. The name is heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue. “I just wanted to see you again. To learn from you. So I can find a way to stop being—”

_Torn apart._

“ _Yes_.” Kylo’s voice cracks.

_I know that you wanted to see me._

“Then— then why didn’t you come to me again?” Kylo asks, voice breaking. “I called to you so many times. I needed you to show me the Dark side again. So I could be stronger than the Light. So I could be _whole_ , for once. I needed you, Lord Vader. Anakin. Grandfather.”

 _You called to me because you only saw in me what they saw in you._ Anakin looms over him, lips curled back in a snarl. _You wanted my Darkness. They wanted your Light. But both of us are Light AND Dark, Kylo. And both of us are real people, with so much more to us than either Light or Dark. I came that first night to show you how to find the Dark side so that you would not go mad. But you didn’t listen when I tried to tell you to try to find a balance, somehow. I don’t know if it’s possible, Kylo. But I do know that it’s worth trying. If I—_ Kylo looks up at the sudden surge of emotion in his Force-presence. _If I had been able to find a way to balance them, Kylo—_

_Kylo—_

Anakin rises to his feet. Force-ghosts cannot cry, but his _eyes—_

 _FIND A WAY,_ he roars. _FIND ONE. For yourselves. For your children. For me. FIND A WAY._

He is gone.

 

 

 

In his absence, the silence of the star destroyer is suffocating. Kylo stays on his knees, staring at the empty air above the mangled control panel. Rey stands by the windows and watches Kylo.

“Do you think it can be done.” His voice scrapes against his throat.

“I think that the last time two Skywalkers teamed up, they destroyed the Empire.”

Kylo snorts. “They had a little help, I think.”

“So do we.”

Kylo cuts sharp eyes at her. “If you’re planning to go on at me again about talking to my—”

“ _No_ , Kylo. I promised I wouldn’t. And I meant it.”

“Good.” Kylo’s silent for a moment. “But how would we—do you think we could—would it even—” He stops, lost.

“I don’t know.” Rey looks down at him, heart pounding in her ears. “Do you want to try?”

Kylo’s silent for a long, long, time. “No,” he says. “No. It can’t be done.” He picks up his mask and turns it over and over again. Knuckles clenching white on dark leather. Breath echoing against rippled durasteel. “ _How,”_ he asks again.

“I don’t know.” Rey’s fingers clench and unclench on the hem of her vest. “But if you want to do it, Kylo, you can. I know that you can.”

Kylo bows his head. Touches shaking fingers to his eyes. Staggers to his feet. Smashes the door open. Slams it shut behind him.

Rey closes her eyes and sinks down yet again. This time the Force is flush around her, billowing with life. _Thank you,_ she says. _All of you. Thank you._ Deep inside the surging power, she catches a glimpse of curling hair, wine-dark eyes, softest smile. Hands cupping a face and shooting a blaster and holding a hand. _Thank you,_ Rey says, eyes stinging. _Thank you._

 

 

 

Only a few hours later, Kylo bursts into the room, cape swirling black behind him. “Get up,” he snarls. “Get up! Come on.”

Rey scrambles to her feet, mind still halfway between meditation and real-time. “What? What’s going on?”

Kylo waves a hand at her, not listening. “Go! Get out of here. Put something black on. Don’t you have anything in black?”

Rey stares at him. “Do I look like I packed a boa-wood trunk before coming here?”

“Shut up.” He punches his comm. “Lieutenant Dorlin. Dorlin! Bring me an officer’s uniform. Female.”

“Yes, sir! What size, sir?”

“Size? What—” Kylo gestures impatiently at Rey. “Well? What size are you?”

“I don’t know!” Rey splutters. “I’ve never bought clothes in sizes. I—”

“All of them,” Kylo barks into the comm, and slams it down onto the console.

“Kylo.” Rey steps forward. “What in the—”

“Snoke is coming.”

Rey stops dead. “ _What?”_ The waves of tension rolling off Kylo suddenly make a lot more sense. “No. Oh, no. Oh, Force,” she whispers. “Then I need to leave. Now.”

“Too late,” Kylo snaps. “He’s already left hyperspace and is within close range of the _Vengeance_. He’s in his own Interdictor. Gravity well projectors will be on, knowing him. You won’t be able to escape. He’s in a shuttle now, docking within five minutes.”

“And then what? Why is he coming here?”

“He wants to meet you. See how my training has been going. So you’ll have to pretend to have turned to the Dark side. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Won’t take him long to see through it.”

“No, it won’t.”

“So then what?”

Kylo doesn’t answer.

“Kylo!” Rey straightens her shoulders, takes a deep breath. “Kylo. What are you planning to do?”

Kylo leans his forehead against the wall, stares into nothing, runs his fingers up and down the hilt of his lightsaber.

“I don’t know,” he whispers at last.

Rey swallows.


	14. this is who i am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: brief violence, mostly canon-typical.

They’re halfway to the grand chamber, boots clipping on durasteel tiles, by the time Rey breaks their tense silence. “What even is he?”

“No idea.” Kylo’s metallic voice echoes in the narrow corridors of the star destroyer. “Humanoid of some sort. Old, scarred. Dark side will do that to you. Projects himself as huge, but I’ve never seen him in person. I like to believe he’s compensating. Probably no taller than the average dick.”

Rey snorts despite herself. “Powers?”

Kylo turns to her, looks forward again. She wishes she could see his expression. “I have no idea,” he says at last. “I’ve never fought him.”

 

 

 

He _is_ compensating (of course) but he’s quite a bit taller than the average humanoid dick. Four feet, perhaps? _Never judge your opponent by their size_ , Luke told her. Their steps echo in the vast chamber as they approach him. She can feel Kylo vibrating beside her. Snoke watches them, seated at ease on a throne atop a tall podium.

“So, scavenger,” he says. “You have come to join us.”

“Yes,” Rey replies, chin held high. She can hear her heartbeat pounding in her temples. “Kylo has been teaching me the ways of the Dark—”

“Don’t bother.” Snoke raises a hand for her to stop speaking. “I know he has not. I know you are not yet Dark.” He shakes his head, slow and lethal. “You think you are stronger than I am,” he murmurs. The words aren’t directed at her.

Kylo bows his head. “No, Supreme Leader. I swear, I am loyal to you. She is not. She has been manipulating me ever since she arrived. She has tried to make me join her, but I will always be yours alone.”

“I will never turn,” she says. Simple, quiet, firm. _I am a Jedi,_ she thinks to herself. _Like my father before me. Like my grandfather._ Luke’s shown her the memory. Rey stands her ground. So does Kylo, by her side.

“Your father,” Snoke says, very soft. “Your grandfather.” He addresses both of them. “Lived a remarkably long life, for a Darksider. You will not.” He turns back to Rey. “You’re aware, of course, that Ren summoned me here to turn you or kill you.”

Slowly Rey turns her head and looks up at Kylo, ears ringing. “No,” she says. “I was not.”

Snoke flicks a hand in the air. A metallic recording issues from one wide arm of his throne.

 _“She will not turn, Supreme Leader. Please, come to me. Show her the power of the Dark side. So that she understands the rightness of this path."_ The recording clicks off.

Rey stares straight ahead. She understands, now. She is going to die here. Die, or be turned.

 _Jess was right,_ she thinks. _I was delusional._

Kylo stands rigidly by her side.

_But Finn was right, too. I have survived everything the world has thrown at me. I will survive this, as well._

“Show me, then,” Rey says. “The power of the Dark side.”

Snoke smiles. “Kill Ren.”

Rey blinks. _“…What?”_

Kylo’s head snaps up to stare at Snoke, looming over them from his distant throne. “Supreme Leader.”

“Ren,” Snoke murmurs. “I know what you plan. I do not tolerate traitors. Rey: words are easy. If you want to become Dark—to be the new leader of my Knights—to gain power and glory and freedom, beyond your wildest dreams—then _show me_. Kill him, or be killed.”

“Ah,” Rey says. “This is where you get your lines from, Kylo.”

Kylo chokes on a laugh, startled—then draws his saber and whirls to face her. “Try it,” he threatens.

“No.” She lifts her chin to Snoke. “Trying to repeat the Emperor’s mistakes?”

“ _No_ ,” Snoke rumbles. “If I were, I’d have tried to kill _you._ You have a choice to make, now. Kill him, or be killed.”

Kylo attacks before she even has a chance to draw her saber. She _thrusts_ him back for just long enough to pull her own lightsaber out. He strikes, strikes, strikes, as though fighting for his life. She moves only in her own defense, ducks a blow, whirls to his back, blocks his flying kick.

 _Stop this,_ she snaps at him. _I do not want to fight you._

 _Why not?_ he hurls back. _Everyone else wants to kill me. Why not you?_

_Kylo. I can keep telling you for the rest of your life that they don’t want to kill you. Will you ever believe me?_

_No,_ he snarls.

_Why not?_

_Why_ should _I believe you?_ he flings back.

 _Because I do not want to kill you!_ Rey _leaps_ far over his head, lands well out of his reach, and cuts out her saber. _Kylo. If the proof you have by now isn’t enough, then NO PROOF will ever be enough to convince you. You’re going to have to take a leap of faith._

“Enough of this,” Snoke interrupts. “Kill him. Or be killed.”

 _Kylo,_ Rey says, very tart. _You’re a smart man. You do realize that there’s one person in this room who wants you dead, and it’s not me?_

Snoke smiles. “She’s using you,” he murmurs.

Rey whirls toward him. He could hear all of—

“Why do you think I rule the galaxy?” Snoke flicks a dismissive hand at her. “Ren. You know she’ll never let you out of here alive. She will betray you, just as they all have.”

“He’s _lying_ to you. Kylo. You’re better than this.”

Kylo looks at her, silent. He understands four things:

  1. Snoke wants him to kill Rey, just as he killed Han. So that he will sink back into Darkness. So that his ties to home will be even weaker.
  2. If he doesn’t kill Rey, Snoke will kill him.
  3. He will not be able to kill Snoke alone.
  4. Rey will betray him as well, someday.



Kylo stills. Rey watches him. He turns to face her, eyeplates blank and unreadable. _We’ll finish this later,_ he says at last. In one fluid motion, he leaps toward Snoke, lightsaber raised to attack. Rey attacks by his side, flashing blue and violent force.

Snoke stretches out a hand towards Kylo. Electric bolts shoot through the air. Kylo blocks the rays with his lightsaber.

Energy crackles between Snoke’s hand and Kylo’s blade, glinting bright white in the vast chamber. Kylo braces his feet and hangs on, breath rasping through the vocalizer.

“Ren,” Snoke murmurs. “You thought I needed you enough to keep you around, traitorous as you are. But an empire is only as weak as its weakest link. Right now, that’s you.” With a snarl, he intensifies his attack. Kylo shudders, hands shaking on his blade. “I will give you one last chance to prove your loyalty to me. Kill her. Or be killed.”

Kylo turns to look at Rey.

Rey watches him, braced in a fighter’s crouch, saber lit before her, heart pounding in her ribs. She could attack him, now. Pinioned by Snoke’s lightning, he would be unable to defend himself against her blows. She’d take her place at Snoke’s side, leading the Knights of Ren, ruling the galaxy. She has no interest in any of that. But if she doesn’t kill Kylo, Snoke will kill her.

When it comes down to it, only two of them will leave this room. She plans to be one of them.

 _Kylo,_ she says.

 _Now,_ he answers.

Rey lunges at Snoke. Snoke blasts her with the full brunt of his lightning, strong enough to rip her lightsaber from her grasp and fling her backward, halfway across the chamber.

The pain is _excruciating_. Rey curls in onto herself, convulsing in agony, laced with fire. She knows how to shield herself—she knows—she thought she could—but she can’t—she can’t—she _can’t—_

Through her flickering vision, she sees Kylo take advantage of Snoke’s momentary distraction. His lightsaber rises. Snoke lashes out at him again. Kylo raises a gloved hand, collects the blue-white fire in his palm, and sends it back at Snoke’s heart. Snoke simply raises his hand to catch it and reflects it right back at Kylo. The lightning builds and builds between them, crackling and snapping.

Ignoring the smoke starting to rise from her body, Rey gathers enough strength to summon her lightsaber and send it flying towards Snoke. The blade cuts through the circuit of energy, scattering stray bolts of lightning throughout the chamber. In the sudden silence between them, Kylo stabs Snoke through the heart before he has a chance to defend himself.

Snoke looks up at Kylo. His mouth opens, closes. With the infinite grace of a falling AT-AT, he topples off the podium and smashes to the floor.

For one long, frozen, moment, everything is silent.

Kylo takes off his mask. Drops it at his feet. Stares down at Snoke’s corpse. Rey shudders, trying to pull in a full breath. Kylo turns and walks to her, saber still lit.

He stares down at her. She stares up at him. The lightning is gone, but her limbs still won’t obey her. She tries—she tries—his lightsaber is at her throat.

Rey can’t even pull away from it. “Put that thing away,” she croaks. “I just _helped_ you, you nerfherder. You—you wanted to combine Light and Dark. To go home. Anakin came—you agreed. You—”

“I lied,” Kylo hisses. His scar burns a livid slash across his face. “I lie frequently. You saw—Starkiller. You know that.”

“I don’t think you lied to him,” Rey says, very quiet. “Not until you lit your saber.”

“Shut up.” Kylo presses the tip close enough to burn her skin. Starting to recover the use of her body, Rey tries to push herself away. “I lied, and I killed him, and it brought the Darkness back, and I stopped being torn apart. And then _you_ came, and the Light started coming back. It hurts more, now. So much more. You’re going to betray me, one day. You’re going to give up on me, once you see I’m too Dark to live. You’re going to kill me. And if not you, then _they_ will.”

“ _No_ , Kylo.” In the time it took him to speak, she regained feeling in her limbs. In a single thrust, Rey slides out from beneath his crackling red, leaps to her feet, and summons her own lightsaber to her hand, unlit. “I _won’t._ They _won’t._ You’re just going to have to trust me on that. Trust _them,_ too.”

“Trust them?” Kylo shouts. “They were going to kill me!”

“They abandoned me!” Rey roars back. “ Kylo.” Her voice cracks. “I can’t base the rest of my life off of that. I don’t want to. So I’m going to choose to forgive them. To believe them when they say they love me. That I’m safe among them. It’s the same for you.”

He circles her, blade raised.

Rey holds her ground. “The trust you’re looking for won’t come from _them,_ but from _you_. You’re going to have to decide to trust them, even though you don’t think you have enough proof yet. You’re going to have to take a leap of faith. You’re not fifteen anymore, Kylo. I’m not—not five.” Her voice cracks. “I’m trying to forgive them now. I know that I will, in the end. Because they love me. They made a horrible choice, long ago, out of fear. They want to do better now. I am going to give them another chance, once I go home. You can too.”

“I will never be what they want me to be,” Kylo hisses at her.

Rey shrugs. “That’s not _your_ problem. That’s theirs. Give them a chance to get used to you.”

“And when they find out I’m still Dark, and they decide to kill me?”

“They won’t.”

“No way to know that, until it’s too late.”

“No. There isn’t. Leap. Of faith. That’s what it means.”

“Fuck you.”

Rey shrugs. “Life is shit, isn’t it.” Her eyes track him as he paces around her, every line in her body ready for his attack. “You know what else is shit? Huddling in the belly of an abandoned AT-AT, starving, unable to think or feel anymore because you haven’t gotten enough to eat in months, maybe years. Completely alone. Knowing that you can’t possibly get up to scavenge, and that if you don’t, you’ll die. _That_ is shit, Kylo.” Her voice rises, fierce. “But it was something I could do, so I did it. Deciding to trust again? That’s something _you_ can do.”

“Fuck that,” he snarls again.

“Yes,” Rey nods. “Fuck all of it. I agree completely. But it’s your choice. If you try to kill me, I can promise you I will fight to defend myself. If you don’t stop trying to kill me until you are dead, then I will keep fighting you until you are dead. But,” she says, hands tightening around her saber, “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already.”

Kylo slashes at her, vague and haphazard. “Why are you doing this to me?” he snarls.

Rey shrugs. “It’s the right thing to do? I don’t need a pilot, that’s for sure.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Because I need you to return so you can free Poe from that fucking mind-lock. Because I need you to be on our side so that we can finally take down the fucking First Order. Because you’re a decent human being, underneath all of your banthashit, and you deserve to live a decent life among decent people. Not to be afraid all the time— _yes, I fucking know you’re afraid!”_

He lunges at her again. She blocks his blow. Their blades hiss, locked in place against each other. Red and blue lights reflect off his scar, her irises, his hair, her teeth.

“You’re _wrong,_ ” Kylo snarls. “ _I am not afraid._ I am going to rule this galaxy, on my own terms. I do not trust you. I do not trust any of them.”

“Do you trust _yourself?”_ she shouts back at him. “You’re strong. You’re an _adult_ now, Kylo. You’re not at their mercy anymore. You need to trust that even if they let you down again, you’ll be ok.”

“I can’t go back there.” Kylo’s voice is hoarse. “Even I wanted to. Even if it works, this—this _thing_. This Light-Dark thing. I can’t go back to them.” The words slip beneath the snapping hiss of his saber.

”Why not?”

He stares at her.

“Because you fucked up,” Rey answers for him. His head jerks in a nod. “Well,” she says, “so did they. Life is, as I said: shit.”

Kylo lifts a hand. Rey can’t breathe. Kylo’s back slams into the wall. A shattered line of red thrums between them. A fierce line of blue joins it.

They fight.

She’s _brutal_ when she fights, life and strength and fire, centered in the bright Light of the Force. Kylo draws his energy from the anger that flares around him, the hurt and the fear and the _rage_ at knowing he will never be a Jedi like this small _child_ , still a padawan, so easily crushable, so full of the Force. Shouting at him, believing in him, not letting him be, not letting him go. His _cousin_ , flashing light and agile form. He doesn’t want to kill her. He wants to _be_ her. But he can’t. He can’t be the Darkness, either.

He will never be what they want him to be—his blade smashes down against hers, over and over and over again—he will never be what Snoke wants him to be—he presses in tight, angling his fiery crossguards towards her shoulder—he’s neither—she twists away and jumps over his head, attacks from behind as he whirls to meet her—he’s nothing—spin kick, use his height for advantage, block her flashing blows, lock in tight and force her down, duck beneath her spinning jump and lunge to meet her again—this is who he is, halfway and in-between—slash down kick right jump up swing over blue red Light Dark—

He fights her with everything he has, finding himself in the vivid fury of their battle. _Violence. Destruction. Passion. Energy. Focus._ It’s beautiful. It’s _him._

Rey laughs, bright and clear, when she catches the feeling from him. Kylo lunges at her  harder than before, but then he’s laughing too, filled with an incandescent power.

_This is who he is._

Their fight turns into dancing, kata after kata, trained by the same master, lunge block kick slash jump. The smash and crackle of their sabers, the stomp and tap of their boots, the pant and hiss of their breaths echo against the cavernous walls.

 _You can do this,_ she says.

His eyes catch hers, and hold. With one powerful backwards leap, he disengages from the fight. Stands there, panting, half-bent beneath the weight of his robes.

Rey watches him. His saber slides into its holster. So does hers. She’s glowing, panting, grinning at him. “I knew you could do it, Kylo.”

“Do _what?”_ he growls.

“Fuse the two sides. Use Light and Dark together. I could feel it, Kylo. It was amazing. It was _beautiful_. You’d be unstoppable, if you could truly harness that. Twice the Force. Twice the power.”

“Half of each. At best.”

“Still makes one whole Force-user.”

“No.”

She waits.

“ _How.”_ His voice is ragged.

“We call her. You go home. We figure this out.”

Kylo’s shoulders sag. “I can’t.”

Rey is silent.

He _screams,_ draws his lightsaber again, slashes great marks into the air, the floor, the wall. “It won’t work!” he roars. “It’ll never work. They’ll kill me, I’ll kill them, it will never work!”

Rey shrugs. “It might not.”

He looks at her.

She looks back.

“ _How.”_ His saber-hilt shakes in his hands.

“You can do this.”

_I’m terrified._

“Of course it’s fucking terrifying!” Rey snaps. “How do you think I felt, leaving Jakku? The only home I ever knew. The place where my family would come to get me someday. How do you think I felt, leaving all that behind, jumping into the unknown?”

He stares at her.

“Leap,” she says. “Of faith. Hurts, doesn’t it?”

He snarls and advances, lightsaber crackling with unstable heat. She fights him back, blocking each blow. _What else would you do?_ she hurls at him.

_I would rule the galaxy._

_Why? To what end?_

He stares at her with dark-tunnelling eyes. His lightsaber falls, illuminating a sharp line from his hands to his boots. For one blinding moment he opens the tiniest crack of himself to her, and she sees it. The exhaustion. The never-ending fear. The bone-deep mistrust. Him, on Snoke’s throne. Holding on to a doomed empire he does not believe in until his mother blasts him down from the sky. Falling, through the emptiness of space, until he burns up in the wake of a giant star.

“This is why you wear a mask,” she says, very quiet.

“No,” Kylo says, equally quiet. “I wear a mask so that you think, when I take my mask off, you see the real me.”

“So what is the real you, then?”

His eyes do not leave hers. “I have no idea.”

“Come back with me,” Rey presses. “Just give it a try. On the base you’ll have space, and time, to decide what you want. To figure it out. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

He raises his blade again.

“Just talk to her,” Rey pleads. “See what she says.”

His lips pull back in a snarl.

Rey stares him down. “Kylo,” she says. “I am leaving now. Going back to the base. Home. You may come with, or you can stay. I can’t—Kylo. You were right. I did come here to save you. To turn you back to the Light. But you don’t need to be saved, do you? You’re a person, all to yourself. I can’t decide this for you. If you want your life to be different from what it is now, you’ll have to decide that for yourself. Figure out, for yourself, what you want your life to be. What you need. What you’re going to do.”

She takes one step toward the door, then another. He watches her. She sheathes her blade. Her boots echo against the paneled floor. The door hisses open. She leaves. It hisses shut behind her.

Rey enters the hangar. No one shoots at her. She pulls a scanner out of the belly of her X-wing and checks it for trackers. None. She waves the cockpit open, jumps in, presses the ignition. The control panel lights up in welcome. She takes off, lifts up, points the X-wing’s nose toward the gleaming shield, passes straight through it. The Stormtroopers do not even look up at her as she leaves.

Space opens its arms to meet her, safe and empty. She enters the coordinates for the base and punches the hyperdrive. Stars blur beyond her cockpit. Rey leans her head in her hands, closes her eyes, and cries.

 

 

 

Kylo turns to Snoke’s corpse. Stares down at it. Kneels. Bows his head. His hands shake—his shoulders shake—his whole body shakes. His mouth makes small, aborted movements, as though starting words that never fully form. His breath shudders out in a ragged exhale.

He surges to his feet. Draws his lightsaber again, stabs the corpse, slashes at it, slices it into an asteroid field of tiny cauterized pieces.


	15. you came back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT AHOY! Woohoo! All aboard the good ship femslash!
> 
> Rating has, of course, increased to explicit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************  
>   
>   
> fall apart.  
> please  
> just, fall apart.  
> open your mouth.  
> and  
> hurt. hurt the size of everything it is.  
> —dam  
> (from _Salt,_ by Nayyirah Waheed)  
>   
>   
>   
>  ***********************************************

“Rey!” Jess is waiting for at the bottom of the ladder, arms spread wide. Rey’s not quite sure she can bear to be touched right now. She climbs down slowly, step by step. She doesn’t even need the ladder. She could just jump down. But—but she—

 She reaches the bottom, leans back against the ladder, and stares at Jess, spent. Jess’ arms drop to her sides, but the ear-splitting grin of relief doesn’t leave her face. “You came back,” she says, voice trembling. “You came _back_. Rey. You came back! ”

“I failed.” Rey’s voice sounds distant to her own ears. “Kylo’s still—still there.”

“Doesn’t matter, firecat. It’s ok. You came back. That’s what matters. You’re ok. Right? You’re still—”

“Still Light, you mean?” Rey asks, unsteady. “Yes. I am.” Rey takes a shaky breath. “I think I am. Oh, Jess.” She steps forward and finally lets Jess hug her. “ _Jess_.”

“Shhh.” Jess runs a gentle hand over her hair. She pats Rey down as though checking for weapons—no, injuries, Rey supposes, but her brain’s a bit too wiped to make sense of anything right now. She stares over Jess’ shoulder, arms at her sides. “Shhh. It’s ok, Rey. It’s ok. I’m so glad you’re back. How did you—what _happened?”_

Rey shrugs, not able to feel Jess’ comfort. “I shouted at Kylo, he shouted back, he summoned Snoke—” she swallows— “we killed Snoke—”

“You _what?”_ Jess steps back to take a closer look at her. “Rey, that’s—”

“He’s _dead?”_ Leia’s voice shakes.

Rey can’t quite meet her eyes, but she turns her head in Leia’s direction, at least. “Kylo made the final blow.”

“Oh, _Ben—_ ” Leia puts a hand to her mouth.

“But that’s—that’s incredible!” Jess beams at her. “Doesn’t that mean you turned him Light? Why isn’t he back now?”

“Because then he tried to kill _me_ ,” Rey continues wearily. “He just wanted to take Snoke’s place. So he’s still there. In charge, now, I assume. It’s over. It’s done. I failed.”

Rey’s throat aches. She steps back out of Jess’ arms, takes a deep breath, and turns to Finn. “I’m sorry,” she rasps, throat almost too tight to speak. “Finn. I’m so sorry.”

Finn nods, eyes brimming. He steps forward, hesitant. She hugs him, buries her face in his shoulder. _“I’m so sorry_ ,” she whispers.

“It’s ok,” Finn rasps. “It’s ok. I’m just—I’m just glad you’re back.” His Force-signature is as tangled as when she left—relief and heartbreak in equal measure.

“I’ll find a way.” She steps out of his hold and stares up at him, intense. “I swear to you, Finn. I’ll find a way to bring Poe back.”

Finn nods and attempts a smile. A familiar roar, and she falls into the arms of the walking carpet who took her on as a surrogate child even before he knew she was part of the family to whom he owed a life-debt. “Thanks, Chewie. I’m glad to be back too.”

With a pat on the back that almost knocks the hyperspace-knots right out of her, he lets go. Rey pulls in a deep, steadying breath, and turns to where Luke and Leia are hovering on the edge of her landing zone. “I need to talk to you both. In private.”

With the same subtle motion, their bodies both brace for impact. “All right,” Leia says.

“In the clearing?” Luke motions to the trail.

Rey nods. She looks at Jess and Finn, gathers strength from her friends’ silent faith in her, and leads them up the trail and into the forest.

 

 

 

“How could you?” Rey looks at the trees, the ground, the sky, anywhere but their faces. “ _How could you?_ He was _fifteen_.”

“We were never going to,” Leia rasps. “You need to know that. We decided to in—” She covers her eyes with a hand. “In the worst moment of my life. We decided not to, very soon after—you’re right, Rey. He was fifteen. We were wrong to give up on him. So wrong. That’s when we lost him. I regret that so much. _So much._ I will always regret it—”

“No,” Rey growls. “The moment you gave up on Ben was not when he was fifteen. At fifteen, you gave up on ever keeping him in the Light. But that wasn’t the first time you gave up on him! You gave up on him the moment you saw that he was Dark and decided that had to change. He is Dark. That’s just—that’s just who he is. It doesn’t mean he’s doomed to be a murderer. He could have found a place among you, if you’d stopped trying to make him into something he could never be. Do you understand?” Rey gestures wildly, intently, lips curled back in an unconscious snarl.

“ _You failed him!”_ she shouts. “By trying to make him into something he is not. Something he can never be. Kylo was born with Darkness in his blood. That’s not his fault. It’s not yours, it’s not mine, it’s not any of ours. It’s the way of the Force. And you’ve told me over and over again, Master Luke—the Force is not wrong. It just _is_. It seeks balance.”

Rey braces her feet on the forest floor and presses on, intense. “So if it was right for me to have been born able to use the Light side of the Force, then it must be equally right for Kylo to have been born able to use the Dark side of the Force. The Jedi way didn’t work for Kylo. The same way it never worked for Anakin. For every would-be Jedi who couldn’t stay on the Light side of the Force simply because their mind worked in a different way!”

“It’s time to start a new order,” she growls. “An order that doesn’t seek to split the Force into two halves! That teaches the ways of both Light and Dark _together_. That doesn’t throw out anyone who can’t toe the line. An order that tries to _understand_ them, instead. To help them figure out how to use their powers in a way that is right for _them._ So that any Force-sensitive can come as they are to learn all that they can.”

Rey grips her lightsaber hilt for strength. “Because you don’t just give up on a person! There’s always something more that can be done. If what you’re doing isn’t working, then you _change what you're doing!”_

Luke stares at her. “That,” he says, eyes wide, “is the single longest speech I have ever heard you say, in all the two years we’ve been working together.”

Rey stares back. The woods are silent around them, waiting, watching. Her back still aches from sitting for two days in hyperspace. Her legs are still stiff. Her eyes still sting.

“You’re right,” Luke says at last. He looks at the ground, looks back up at her. “You’re right.” His eyes are over-bright.

“Then what do we do?” Rey’s voice shakes. “How can we get him back? If he never comes back, then Poe will never—” She swallows. “And then I will have to kill Kylo. I will have to face him again one day, and kill him. Knowing what he could have been.” She finally dares to look at Leia—

Leia’s crying.

Rey stares. Leia did not cry when Han died. Leia does not cry when she talks about Ben. When she describes the destruction of Alderaan. But now—

Leia covers her face with her hands and cries.

Rey steps back, utterly lost.

“I didn’t know,” Leia whispers at last, voice breaking. “I didn’t know. I was afraid. So afraid. I—none of us knew what we were doing. Trying to build a government. Bring peace to the galaxy. Younger than you are now. No idea what would work, what wouldn’t. And we failed. _I_ failed. If I could go back, and do things differently—but I can’t. None of us can. I just wish—”

“Stop wishing,” Rey growls. “Start doing. _Bring him back_. Make this right again.” Her eyes flick to Luke’s. “I came back,” she says. “I’m going to continue to train with you. We’re going to figure this out. But—” her hands clench on her lightsaber hilt— “not right now. Right now, I am going to talk to the man who _did_ come back for me.”  

 

 

 

Rey looks down at Poe’s still face, hands humming with the need to sweep the curls off his forehead. She clasps them in front of her instead. “I’m _sorry_ , Poe,” she whispers. She bows her head, eyes stinging. “I’m so sorry. Finn, I—”

“Shh.” Finn lets her lean into him, folds his arms around her, lowers his head to her shoulder. “You did what you could.” His throat aches. “And—you heard Leia. He might come back to the base, in the end.”

“You don’t believe that.” She can tell, loud and clear, in his Force-signature.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. I wasn’t even sure if I believed that you were coming back, but you did. And then he called Leia of his own accord. She said he might—he might—maybe. I don’t know. I just—I know that I have to keep believing it. Until there are no other options. If I don’t, Rey, I—” His voice rises, unsteady. _POE._ His mind skips straight over the thought, unable to find purchase.

She tightens her arms around him. “I will find a way, Finn. I _swear_ to you.”   

Finn looks over her shoulder. His eyes rest on Poe, watching the slow rise and fall of his lover’s chest. The way his lashes fall on his cheeks, still golden with life. The way his hands lie motionless by his sides. The calmness of his face, so—so utterly _wrong_ , so fucking— “I’m just glad you’re back, Rey,” he repeats, hoarse. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You know that?”

“Well.” Rey’s breath huffs out, bitter. “You’re the strongest _I’ve_ ever met, so we’re even. Did I really hear—two _thousand_ , Finn? When I left, it was still only several hundred, and even that sounded like a miracle.”

Finn smiles despite himself. “Two thousand and twenty-eight.”

“No way!” Rey pulls back and smiles at him, eyes bright. “You did say you were going to tear up the galaxy, didn’t you? I’d say you’re making good on that. Well done, Captain Finn.”

“Major,” Jess inserts, lounging by the door. She can’t look too closely at Poe without being consumed with an overwhelming urge to throttle a sandbag to death.

“What?”

Finn shrugs. “Happened while you were gone. Around when the eight—no, maybe nine hundredth Stormtrooper arrived. Leia officially took me off the piloting roster and put me and Major Nerro in charge of the Freedom Campaign.”

Rey punches him in the shoulder. “ _Major_ Finn. Good for you! Did you celebrate?”

Finn shrugs again.

“Well.” Rey looks down. “We’ll see, right? Maybe Kylo will actually come back, someday.”

“Stranger things have happened, among the Skywalker clan,” Finn muses.

Rey snorts. “Sure about that?”

“Well, maybe not strang _er_. But _as_ strange, at least.” Finn looks down at Poe and sighs. “I have to get back to the control room.” He picks up Poe’s hand, kisses it, and sets it carefully back down on the bed. “Ready to go?”

Rey holds out a hand to him. Finn takes it. It’s not the hand he wants to be holding. But it’s a hand, and he’s here, and she’s here, and they’re alive. So right now, it will have do.

 

 

 

Rey can’t really figure out how to tell Jess what happened, other than the bare details. Kylo is not all Dark, but not Light enough to return. She talked to her father’s masters, to her _grandfather_ —to no avail. They killed Snoke. Kylo almost killed her. She left. _Now what?_ she wants to ask. _Come away with me_ , she wants to say. _I was so afraid,_ she almost admits.

 _Come meet me at the lake,_ Jess comms her, right as she’s finally finishing up the last of an endless string of debriefing meetings.

Lake.

Trees.

Jess.

Open air, swooping birds, rich smell of life.

Won’t change one fucking thing. Poe will still be locked. Finn fighting for the Resistance as though his heart is still in one piece. Kylo unreachable, dangerous, torn apart.

 _Life is shit,_ Rey thinks.

Once—just once—it would be really, _really_ , nice if something in life was not shit.

 

 

 

“You’re going to sit at the opening to the trail to the lake from 2200 to 0200 tonight and let only Rey walk down it, ok? No one else. ”

“You’ve made it worth my while, of course.”

Jess presses a datachip into Snap’s hands. “Newest holo-porno, straight out of Nar Shaddaa, with all of your favorite kinks.”

“How do you know my kinks?”

“I asked E-56. You should tighten their security if you want to keep your secrets. But you’ve got excellent taste, I’ve got to say. That vid of the Twi’lek and the—”

“Is this bribery or blackmail?”

Jess grins up at him.

“One of these days,” Snap sighs, “you’re going to give your commanding officers the respect they deserve, right?”

Jess stretches up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best, Acting Commander Wexley.”

“Laserbrain. Tell Rey I’m doing this for _her_ benefit, ok? You should know better than to go snooping around my astro.”

Jess beams at him. “Be nice, or I’ll tell you what else I learned!” She flips him Rey’s best finger-curl as she leaves.

 

 

 

“Rey!” Jess scrambles to her feet and runs straight towards Rey, arms open. She stops a half-step before colliding with her, but Rey steps forward into the embrace, so Jess hugs her hard enough to sweep her off her feet and spin her in a tight circle. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she says.

Jess stops short. “Rey. Firecat. Come back to me.”

“What?”

“You’re in Jakku-mode.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” Jess takes Rey by the shoulders, stares into her eyes. “That’s what I mean. You are so _completely_ not fine right now. I know what Rey-fine looks like. This is not it.”

Rey stares back. “I’m fine,” she says.

“…Look,” Jess says. “This shit is really not funny right now. When Poe got back, all he could say was—”

“I’m not fucking Force-locked,” Rey snaps. “I’m fine.”

Jess is silent for a long moment. “How can I help?” she asks at last.

Rey stares back at her, equally silent.

“Can I braid your hair?” Jess tries. “I learned a few good ones.”

Rey stares at her, still silent. “Not thirty-five of them. I wasn’t gone a full month.”

Jess’ lips twitch. “No,” she admits. “Only sixteen. But they’re good ones! I even asked your aunt for some ideas.”

“I am _not_ wearing puffcakes on my ears.”

At the attempt at a joke, Jess finally starts to unclench. “No,” she laughs. “No, firecat, I had a feeling you’d object to that one.” She cups her hand around Rey’s cheek, pulls her close, and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “Come on. Sit by the lake with me?”

Rey follows her in silence, sits cross-legged on the grassy shore, stares out over the dark water. Jess arranges herself behind Rey’s back, legs out to each side. With gentle fingers, she unknots Rey’s hairties and lets her girlfriend’s hair fall loosely to her shoulders. She pulls a comb out of her pocket— _yes, Commander fucking Dameron, she is perfectly capable of planning ahead when properly motivated_ —and slowly works it through Rey’s hair, untangling each knot in turn.

When she’s almost done, Rey suddenly shudders and hunches forward, collapsing in over herself. “Jess,” she rasps, feeling the strain of the last several days catch up to her and start to drag her down. _“Jess.”_

Jess drops the comb to her lap and folds her arms around Rey’s chest, hugging her close. She leans down to rest her head atop Rey’s and closes her eyes. “Better, firecat?” she whispers.

“I was so _afraid_ ,” Rey whispers. She can still hear her heartbeat, but it’s quieter now, a steady thump in the base of her temples. “I didn’t—I didn’t know if I could—I needed to figure out how to reach him but I had no idea what might work and it was all I could do to stay Light myself, and not scream about Luke, and I was just so afraid and I knew that I couldn’t show fear, but I _was_ , Jess. I was afraid. I was _so afraid_. And I failed.”

“It’s ok,” Jess shifts to Rey’s side so she can hug her properly, with all of her strength. “It’s ok. You’re back now. You’re safe. You’re ok.” Jess twists forward, squinting to see Rey’s features in the dim moonlight. “You—you _are_ safe, right? You’re ok?” There’s still a throbbing prospect in the back of Jess’ mind, a possibility she has not even been able to touch, let alone unwrap and look at, let alone _ask_ about.

“I think so?” Rey shakes her head, dazed.

Jess needs to be more explicit. Jess can’t be more explicit. Jess will suck it up and be more explicit anyway even though her stomach is churning at the thought. “Did he hurt you.” Her voice scratches in her throat.

“No!” Rey shakes her head again, stronger this time. “No. Jess. I’m fine. Thank the Force. I—I’m ok. I just—” She stops. Stares out at the lake. “I just want to—forget everything. From the last week. Can I please just forget it all?”

 _“Yes._ Of course you can, firecat. Come here."

Rey leans into Jess’ shoulder again, completely out of words. Jess pets her hair with soft fingers and murmurs nice things into Rey’s ear—a bunch of nice things, any nice things that come to mind. Some of them are even in Basic. Rey doesn’t seem to notice when they’re not, so Jess supposes she’s good to continue. Rey just clings to Jess, silent.

“I know a way to help you forget it tonight,” Jess whispers at last. “As long as—I mean—you will start to deal with it in the morning, right? Talk to—to someone, about it?”

“Not Luke,” Rey murmurs.

“No,” Jess agrees. “Maybe not. But—someone. A psytech. Finn. Me. BB-8, even. Ok?”

“Ok,” Rey whispers in her ear. “But not right now.”

“Good,” Jess whispers back. “Because right now I really want to go down on you.”

Rey pulls back and looks at Jess, eyes wide in the moonlight. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Jess shrugs. “I‘m sure you’ll make it up to me somehow.” Her broad grin slides into a leer. She leans forward to press a kiss—fierce, warm, lush—to Rey’s mouth. Rey cups the back of Jess’ head and pulls her in with a sudden throbbing drive.

When they break apart for air at last, Rey starts to stand up.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jess tugs her back down beside her. “Where are you going?”

“To the bunk?” Rey asks, confused.

Jess smirks. “I reserved the lake for us, tonight. We can stay and sleep and do whatever you’d like to do.”

Rey blinks down at her. “Reserved the lake.”

Jess shrugs. “Snap’s easy. Four hours per holo-porno. And then it doesn’t matter if anyone finds us just sleeping here, so we can stay out, if you like. It’s certainly warm enough, tonight, and it’s not supposed to rain. If you want. I mean—we can go back inside, too—”

“No! No! This is lovely! I—missed being outside. On the ship. Can—I mean—are you sure it’s safe?”

Jess smirks. “I mean, I’ve never asked him before personally, but Poe has, and Karé and Iolo used to ask him all the time. Although I think I’ll need to start asking Zari for advice on what to get him, rather than E-56, because I told Snap to tighten their security. You think Zari would know?”

Rey covers her face with her hands. “Jess—”

“Sorry,” Jess laughs. “It’s—well. You know. We’re not known for our sense of shame and decency, I guess. Pilots, I mean. But hey, since you’re going to make it up to me sometime, _you_ can figure out how to bribe Snap.”

“I am so not qualified to do that.” Rey’s words are muffled between her fingers.

Jess snakes a finger up one of Rey’s arms and down the other. “I thought I’d convinced you to start looking for your own—”

“I did.” Rey peeks out through her fingers, then covers her face again. “But for _me_ , not—”

“Yeah, ok, it is pretty weird to look for porn for someone else, I guess,” Jess admits. “Never mind. Keep to your own holo-pornos. I don’t suppose you found any while on Kylo’s—”

 _“NO!”_ Rey dissolves into laughter. “Are you crazy?”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.” Rey uncovers her face at last and reaches toward Jess, trying and very much failing to suppress a smile. “The best kind of crazy, though,” she whispers into Jess’ hair, holding her tightly.

Jess does not _purr, Karé, thank you very much,_ but the sound she makes now might possibly be likened to a purr in an alternate galaxy in which Jess was not prone to grabbing the vibroblade in her belt and running after whoever said she sounded like that. But if, in theory, she were to make a sound vaguely resembling the noises emitted by a happy pittin, she would be entirely justified right now. It’s just rare— _very_ rare—for Rey to offer any kind of endearment, or praise.

Jess has learned, by now, that this is not because Rey doesn’t return her feelings, but that she’s just in way over her head with all of this. It took her long enough to get comfortable with the idea of a relationship. Of their bodies, together. Desire and safety and comfort and pleasure. Words of love come more slowly, especially in times of stress, but she’s getting there. She really is. So Jess saves up the words when she hears them, knowing exactly how much effort it takes Rey to give them.

“So,” Jess says, trying to play it cool. Nope. Who the fuck is she kidding? “Going down. Good idea? Not good i—”

“ _Great_ idea.” Rey presses kiss to her hairline, then sits back up. “Here? By the trees?”

“Here.” Jess scoots to sit by Rey’s side. “You can put your feet in the lake.”

And _that_ draws the smile Jess was hoping for. “My holo-pornos all take place in the middle of the ocean,” Rey announces.

Jess’s eyes pop right straight out of her head and go wandering down to dip their toes in the water, or at least that’s what it feels like. It takes her a full minute to regain her breath, at which point Rey’s already collapsing in fits of laughter. “ _Rey_ ,” Jess gasps at last. “Fucking banthashit. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days. Warn me first, ok? Oh, firecat.” She tumbles to the shore beside Rey, drunk on the sound of her girlfriend’s giggles.

“Your _face_ ,” Rey gasps. “Your face, your face, the look on your face, oh Force, I needed that. Oh, Jess.” She presses her lips together, trying to calm down, but bursts into another wave of giggles the moment she catches sight of Jess’ face.

Offensive. Clearly time to go on the offensive. Jess attacks Rey’s boots first, unlacing them and tossing them over her shoulder. Rey leans back onto her elbows and grins at Jess. “You have _really_ great ideas. Did I mention that yet?”

“You did,” Jess nods, moving up to Rey’s trousers and untying her fly. Rey lifts her hips so Jess can pull them off, then scoots forward until her feet are half-submerged in the lake, her knees propped in the air. She closes her eyes and sighs at the feeling of the cool water on her feet, kicks back and forth for a moment to watch the falling droplets glint in the moonlight.

Jess kneels between Rey’s legs and keeps her eyes on the prize. With a slow stroke down Rey’s chest from neck to waist, she says _hi, I kind of want to do this thing with you._ Rey looks up at her and smiles, the small private smile she reserves for moments like this: two women, a moment in time, a quiet place to call their own. With a slow answering grin, Jess undoes the clasp of Rey’s belt, slides it off, and unpeels the layers of fabric from underneath it.

Rey’s skin, in the moonlight, is fair and smooth, slashed and crosshatched by a lifetime of violence. A blaster scar on her shoulder, a stab wound that just barely missed important organs, a lightsaber burn down her forearm from a training accident. Jess brushes each one with soft fingers, the faintest touch of lips. Rey sighs and loosens beneath her, muscle by muscle, giving into trust.

And, breasts. Breasts are, as far as Jess is concerned, a fucking miracle. She leans down to suckle the ones in question for the thousandth—and with luck, not the last—time. Rey’s breath catches. She pulls Jess up to her face for a moment to kiss her, sweet and slow, everything Jess never knew her girlfriend could do. Jess closes her eyes and sighs into the kiss, and yes, ok, maybe she fucking purrs again, whatever. Could be worse. Could be fart noises.

Anyway. Rey’s tongue flicks into her mouth, presses in. Jess can hear the difference in Rey’s breathing as she sinks further out of Jakku-mode and back into her own self. Her hand comes up to the back of Jess’ head and cups her close, taking back her own power. Jess strokes Rey’s hair back from her forehead, tangles her fingers in the thin locks, and breathes in—durasteel and leather and sweat, familiar and beloved.

Rey tips her head back as Jess kisses her neck. “I missed you,” she breathes.

Jess’ hands tighten on her waist. “I missed you too, firecat.” She leans down to Rey’s breasts again—could she fit an entire one in her mouth? Quite possibly, or at least worth a try. They are, as far as Jess is concerned, really fucking hot. Personal opinion, of course. But arguments lead to bruises, and anyway, saying things like that out _loud_ would be rude and crass.

Out loud in front of other people, at least. “Have I mentioned how much I love your—”

“Yes.”

Jess looks up. “Just for that—” She bites the nearest breast, just a gentle promise of teeth. Rey hisses in pleasure and arches slightly, breath coming shorter.

Time? It’s fucking time. Contact, ignition, takeoff. Jess slides down between Rey’s thighs until her own legs are floating out into the water and lowers her head.

The lake is cool and inviting on Rey’s bare feet. Jess’ hands rest on Rey’s hips, strong and callused and grounding. Rey stares up at the stars until Jess—does—that—and then her eyes close tightly and her hands reach down to cling to Jess’ head. Jess’s tongue flicks out and traces a swirling Aurek over her clit, or at least it’s probably an Aurek, but really, literacy is probably overrated at times like these. An enticing pull, and Jess is sucking, breath warm on Rey’s already heated skin.

And then Jess’ tongue goes— _inside_ —and Rey spares only a fleeting thought for her sand-ground self, curled up in the bowels of an AT-AT, not even able to dream about this. A very, _very_ fleeting thought, because Jess is still there, mouth hot and wet on Rey’s—on— “ _Ohhhh_ ,” Rey sighs, and the waves lap over her feet as she shudders, full-body, panting.

Jess is _still there_ , insistent, hot, overwhelming, and Rey _shudders_ again and gropes for her hands. The point where they join is a bright fiery star, spreading out through her bones with—with—Rey’s hands clutch on Jess’ head, shaking. And Jess is—still—  _"Ohhhh,”_ Rey moans again, hovering on the dune-edge of coherence.

Jess’ hands tighten in response, completing the circuit between her mouth and Rey’s clit and Rey’s hips and her hands and her _mouth_ , _her—her—_ Rey arches up with a shuddering breath, body clutching in on itself, entire energy focused on the point where their bodies meet. She holds tight to Jess as the orgasm shudders through her, shaking her limbs into loose fabric on the ground. At last she closes her eyes and falls back against the ground, boneless, panting.

Jess lays her head on Rey’s stomach, breathing hard, grinning like a maniac. Very few things in life could ever be as fun as transforming her fierce, hypercompetent girlfriend into a sated mess. Her own legs float out into the lake, submerged to her waist, pants and shirt hem sticking to her wet skin. But getting soaked is a small price to pay for the soft smile on Rey’s face, eyes still closed, face lit with eerie blue moonlight, and—her—  

Lakes don’t _do_ that. Little waves, sure. Riplets. Gently floating her up and down with their surges and ebbs. Tiny, focused darts? Inside her pants, on—her—

“Rey.”

Rey opens her eyes and peers down at Jess, a sublimely smug smile hovering around her lips. “Yes?”

“Rey—you—” Jess stops and closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, there’s a sheen of sweat down her back despite the cool water on her lower half. “Rey,” she manages again. The lake continues its intimate introductions, crooks a liquid finger up—and in. Jess’ breath comes short. “I don’t think that’s an appropriate use of the Force,” she gasps at last, lowering her head to Rey’s stomach again.

“Probably not,” Rey smirks. “Are you going to tell Luke on me?”

“ _Fuck,_ no,” Jess pants. “Fuck—Rey—you—” The pressure increases further, hard and fast, opens her up, licks sweet and cool and insistent and coaxing and consuming. Jess’ breath comes shorter, faster—and then the pressure abruptly ebbs, just as Jess is about to—to—Jess whacks her side. “Hey,” she croaks. “Knowing when—that’s _definitely_ an inappropriate use of the Force.”     

“Never minded it before,” Rey points out, still insufferably smug.

“This always happens when I get you off first,” Jess moans. “You’d think I’d learn. But no—” The water starts up again, slow but sure.

“I had assumed you were doing that on purpose, actually.”

“No,” Jess gasps. “I just—don’t learn. Common sense. Logic. Not my—” Her hands tighten around Rey’s waist. “Strong suit. You— _Force_ — _Rey_ —” Jess’ hands slide up to wrap over Rey’s breasts. Rey’s hands cover hers. Her head tilts back. Jess opens her eyes again, if only to see the long column of Rey’s neck highlighted in silver beneath the moon. “Rey,” she gasps again.

The water—it—Jess’ brain hops out of its ship, takes off its helmet, and wanders off into the woods. She lowers her forehead to the warmth burning up through Rey’s vest and just _breathes._ The tension builds—and builds—and—and she’s—

By the time Jess comes back to herself, Rey’s pulled—floated?—her out of the water to lie beside her on the shore, wrapped in her arms. “You,” Jess says.

“Mmm?” Rey presses their foreheads together.

“Mmm,” Jess agrees. Fuck words. Whatever, brain. Didn’t need you anyway. She clings tighter to Rey, trying to pretend to herself that it’s the lingering chill of the water that drives this need to hold Rey to her so she can never leave again. A distant breeze rustles in the forest canopy above their heads, ruffles the lake into pleats of silver. A pair of X-wings—Stiletto, most likely—hum far overhead, then let the lakeshore return to silence.   

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Jess whispers, when her tongue can wrap itself around coherent words again.

“Me too,” Rey whispers.

Jess grins, kisses her neck, and sucks in a soft love-bite.

“Are you cold?” Rey asks.

“A little,” Jess admits.

“We can go in, if you want,” Rey says, trying to keep the reluctance out of her voice.

Not a chance. Jess’ laugh puffs warm over her chest. “If you’re up for a more appropriate use of the Force…there are blankets under the tree.”

“You came prepared.” Rey nuzzles into Jess’ hair. It…might not be quite as neatly braided as it was before she decided to take Rey apart with her mouth. Fair retribution, Rey decides.

“Oh I definitely came, tonight,” Jess lowers her head to suck Rey’s nipple through the cloth.

Rey jumps at the contact. “If you want the blankets, let me concentrate!” she hisses.

“I thought Luke had been training you to concentrate under pressure,” Jess grins up at her.

“You are the worst.” Rey kisses her forehead.

“That’s ok, because you’re the best,” Jess whispers. “There ought to be some sort of balance in this relationship, right?”

“You’re _impossible_ ,” Rey giggles, and— _oh._ There might not be any sound more beautiful in this galaxy. “Impossible, huh? I like the sound of that,” Jess teases.

“Do you.” Rey barely stifles another burst of laughter. She finds Jess’ hand and brings it to her lips.

“I love you, firecat,” Jess whispers. She snuggles in close as a pile of soft blankets folds over and around them. Their bodies lift up off the ground—no, Jess thinks, that will never get old, not even when she and Rey do—the blankets slide beneath them, and they settle back down to the earth, snugly wrapped in the best (scratchiest) field blankets the Resistance has to offer.

Rey curls around her beneath the blankets and holds on tight. She ducks her head to Jess’ shoulder, closes her eyes, and takes a moment to simply _sense_ the world around her. Lover in her arms. Soft warmth over her shoulders. Lake beyond her feet. Mountains in the distance. Cool ground beneath her body. At a remove, the base: a sleeping mound of lives and breaths. Above them, the sky: sweeping overhead, dark and still, pierced with stars. Beyond that, the large moon, and its little sister peeking just above the trees. Muted roar of a pair of X-wings on patrol.

Lover, in her arms.

“I love you too,” Rey whispers at last, coming back to herself. “Jess. _Jess._ ” She cups Jess’ cheek in her hand, pulls their faces close, and presses a soft kiss to Jess’ lips. “I’m sorry I—”

“It’s ok, firecat.” Jess murmurs, curling in closer.

“Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Course.”

Rey’s silent for a while. When she speaks again, her voice barely carries over the faint rippling of the lake. “It could have been me, you know.”

Jess squints up at her face. “What?”

“Born full of Darkness. It could have been me. Simmering and exploding and ripping up the galaxy and killing the ones I love. It could have been. So easily.”

Possibly if not exhausted, recovering from a week of being sick with worry over Rey, coming down from the adrenaline rush of having her returned, and, oh, still slightly zinging with the force (ha!) of orgasm, Jess would have a lovely speech for her in return. But as it was, she has no words equal to the weight of Rey’s fear, except— “It _wasn’t_ ,” Jess murmurs, throat gravely with fatigue. “You _weren’t_. Firecat. You’re ok. More than ok—you came back. You even tried to save _him!_ Because you’re a fucking heroine and you never give up. You know how amazing you are, right?”

Rey snorts.

“You are!” Jess picks her head up. “You fucking are! Don’t go snorting at me.”

“I just—” Rey’s voice catches. “I just—” she whispers. “I just wanted it to work. So badly. I wanted a happy ending for him. There are so many bad things in this galaxy. So much pain. So much sadness. I just—”

“I _know_ , firecat. I know. I’m so sorry.”

Rey ducks her head to Jess’ chest.

“You did what you could.” Jess picks up Rey’s chin and waits until her lover looks her in the eyes.

Rey stares back for a long time.

“Go to sleep?” Jess murmurs at last. “Firecat. Things will look better in the morning. I swear to you.”

The sun rises in the morning. That’s the only thing that changes. “Ok,” Rey whispers. She nuzzles into Jess’ shoulder, just to remind herself that she can. Closes her eyes. Listens to the soft hum of the waves. Tries to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Kylo sits on his bed and stares out the vast black viewport. Stars stare back at him, isolated red stabs in the dark expanse of space.

He rises, paces the room. Stops, presses his palms against the sleek transparisteel, and looks out into the endless vacuum. Whirls away, crosses to the corner of his chambers.

Kneels before the glowing plinth that holds Vader’s mask. Anakin’s? No. When he wore this, he was Vader.

“Grandfather,” Kylo murmurs. He folds his hands into fists and bows his head, trying to fit words to the meteor shower of detritus inside him.

And here he is again, a man of thirty-one, floating through the depths of space, without a single flesh-and-blood friend. The isolation presses in on him like a planet with too-strong gravity. His shoulders cave in on themselves.

 _FIND A BALANCE_ , Anakin had said. His eyes—burning eyes—

It’s not a separate thing anymore, loneliness. Not a feeling that can pass. It’s a state of being. It used to be that if he turned his head quickly enough, he could see _loneliness_ , flickering in the dark corners of the room. Now he can feel its hand on his shoulder, pressing his knees into the floor. The bloody, ragged, hole in his chest. The silent ringing between his ears. It’s becoming him, consuming him, destroying him—

Kylo surges to his feet, tears off his mask, and hurls it at the viewport. The transparisteel does not even crack. The mask falls to the floor, empty. The faint reverberation of chrome on transparisteel echoes against the flat planes of the room.

Kylo pulls at his hair until it stands on end, looks out at the soundproof walls, and screams in agony.


	16. like everything i've lost come back to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think you may have been waiting for this chapter for a long time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ************************************************  
>   
>   
> she asked  
> ‘you are in love  
> what does love look like’  
> to which i replied  
> ‘like everything i’ve ever lost  
> come back to me.’  
> (from _Salt_ , by Nayyirah Waheed)  
>   
>   
>   
> ************************************************

_It wasn’t your fault._

Leia freezes. Turns very, very slowly. There. Perched on the edge of the roof, leaning back so far her hands rise in an instinctive mother’s gesture to save him from falling off. But it’s not her son, that’s very clear. It’s a Force-ghost—translucent blue form, short-cropped hair, long thin braid, scar crossing his eyebrow, Jedi robes, hands braced casually on the roof for balance—

Leia’s eyes snag on the gleaming metal hand.

“You fucker,” she says.

He barks out a laugh.

“ _Don’t you dare fucking laugh_ ,” she bites, with all the power of a five-foot-one general and senator. “This is all because of you. All of this pain. Because you fell—”

 _No._ He stands up and paces toward her, no longer amused. _This is not my fault. Not yours, either._ He stops before her with a cold glare. _The Dark sides rises_. _We fall. It is NO ONE’S fault. That’s what I came to tell you._

“Fucking banthashit,” Leia growls, heart pounding in utter fury. “You’ve destroyed everything you ever touched. My son. My husband. My planet. The entire galaxy—”

 _The Dark side destroyed those things,_ Anakin repeats. _I was only the conduit. You need to think these things through, dear._

“You do not have the right to call me dear.”

 _Leia, then._ Anakin paces to the edge of the roof, looks back at her.

Luke vaults up over the roof wall, lands in a flurry of long brown robes, and rolls to his feet. “I felt—” He looks at Leia. Turns his head—

Luke runs toward Anakin’s Force-ghost, arms outstretched.

 _You know that’s not going to end well._ Anakin waits, bored, as Luke’s arms pass straight through him.

Luke steps back with a rueful smile. “Ah,” he says. “I’m sorry. I forgot. It’s been half a lifetime since I’ve seen any of you. I’m so glad you’re here, Father.”

“Seriously?” Leia shouts. “You’re going to greet him with a hug? After all he’s done—”

Luke puts a hand on her arm to silence her. “Father. Why are you here? I haven’t seen you since—”

_You haven’t CALLED to me since the end of the battle of Endor. Even when Ben was born, and you knew the Dark side was strong in him. Even when he fell, and you did nothing to help him._

“We did all we could to help him,” Luke says, gentle. “I tried everything I could think of. I taught him all of the control techniques I know, I asked Obi-Wan and Yoda for advice, I—”

 _Exactly,_ Anakin cuts in. _You asked THEM. You asked the ones who failed to protect me. You asked them how to make Ben something he was not. Something he could never be. You never asked ME. You failed him, Luke—_

“Okay, _enough_.” Luke bows his head. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

 _Good._ Anakin’s Force-voice is suddenly very mild. _Maybe someday you’ll hear it enough to learn it._

“So it’s not my fault, but Luke failed him?” Leia snaps. “How does that—”

_Both of you failed him by not allowing him to be who he was. By not even TRYING to figure out a way to make that work. But the moment you curse at yourself for—yes, Leia, of course I know about it. Who do you think first instructed Kylo in the Dark side, after he fell? When he was panicking, terrified, bereft? He knew he could not return to you. In one sharp break, he’d lost his family and his entire place in the galaxy. The moment when you decided to end him was the grain of sand that jammed the engine. But he had been falling for a long time before that. If not you, it would have been something else. So don’t go blaming yourself for that moment. If you’re going to blame yourself for something, let it be his entire lifetime. All those years you were afraid of him turning into ME._

_Luke._ Anakin turns to his son. _You helped me free myself, by seeing the Light in me. It’s long past time now to help free Kylo—by seeing the Dark in him, and allowing it to exist. Leia._ He lifts his eyes to hers. _You’re right. I have destroyed everything I’ve ever loved. Maybe, in that respect, we are more alike than you think._

Anakin reaches out a hand to her, gleaming metal bones. _I’m sorry._

He is gone.

 

 

 

It’s several long moments before Leia turns to Luke, shaken. “I—”

Chewie bursts onto the roof at a run, roaring something nearly incomprehensible.

“Not now!” Leia snaps. “I’ll come down later—”

He roars right over her words.

Leia pales. “ _What?”_

With a growl, he motions to her to follow him.

Leia looks at Luke. Luke looks at her. She holds out a shaking hand. He takes it. They run to the edge of the roof, leap off—Luke slows her fall and sets her gently on the ground. They race to the hangar together, hearts pounding in their ears.

Leia lets go of Luke’s hand as she steps onto the _Falcon’s_ gangplank. He stays on the landing bay, as per Chewie’s relayed instructions. Leia looks back down at them one more time before disappearing into the familiar winding corridors of the ship, heart pounding in her ribs.

When she reaches the cockpit, she braces herself on the back of Han’s seat. Stares at the shifting lines of the holoprojector. A console, dark tiles, empty space.

“Hello?” she tries.

Footsteps. Closer. Black robes, just a flicker. Leia presses her fingers to her mouth, unable to breathe.

Tall, gangly body. Harsh-lined uniform. Dark hood. Chrome mask. Leather-gloved hands. Clasps on side of jaw. Metallic click-hiss. Dark leather lifts.

The blue lines waver, then resolve into the face of her son.

It takes her a moment to realize that the glitter of his eyes is not a trick of the holocomm.

 _“Ben,”_ she whispers.

“ _Mom_ ,” he whispers back. Glowing blue lines trace tears down his cheeks.

Leia reaches out to touch the face of her son. The last thing her husband saw before he died. The malevolent Darksider who’s killed and tortured thousands of civilians, of her own fighters. Han’s nose, her eyes. The tiny scar above his eyebrow from when he fell out of a tree when he was five. The blood-dark eyes, alternating between rage and pain and fear and _lost._

It’s not the face that still haunts her dreams, sobbing in her arms and _shoving_ her away. His eyes are as wary as ever, but the soft fuzz is gone, cleanly shaven away. His face is bisected by a ragged scar. The hair is longer than she’d ever allowed him to wear it, falling down below his ears. He’s her son, but he’s an adult now, but he’s her son, but he’s—

“What would you like me to call you?” she rasps. She clasps her hands tightly together. She’s been practicing that line for days now, after deciding on it during a sleepless midnight perimeter walk. If she ever got the chance to speak to him again, to try to make things right at last—she would let him lead.

He blinks. “I—do not—care?” he answers at last. “I did not choose either. Both hold unpleasant memories.”

That’s his voice. _Her son’s real voice._ It’s lighter without the mask, more human, still deeper than the voice he left with. “Would you like to choose your own, then?” Leia coughs. Her fingers are growing numb where she’s gripping them too tightly.

“Perhaps. Sometime.” He sits very, very still in his chair. At last he continues. “Until I do, you may call me whichever one you prefer.”

“I would like to call you the one you prefer.”

He regards her for a moment. “Kylo, then.”

She nods. “Kylo. Thank you. For coming to talk to me. I—I want to apologize to you. For deciding, with Luke, years ago. You should know that we decided very soon after not to do so. We would never have gone through with it. But I know that moment has defined your life, and I—I am so sorry for it. Apologizing does not erase anything. I know that. But if—if you can find a way to forgive me. Us. I want you to know that I will always love you. No matter—”

Her throat is too tight to speak. Rough hands secure the ends of a bandage around her arm. Brandy-dark eyes stare at her in total bewilderment as she pulls him in for a kiss. Leia closes her eyes for a moment, opens them again.

”No matter what,” she manages at last, hoarse. The world is narrowing in around her, glowing holo lines and gleaming holo buttons and the _face of her son, sixteen years, the face of her son—_

“ _Kylo."_  Her voices shakes. “I made a horrible decision because of fear. I have lived my life in the shadow of that fear. I was afraid you would become another Vader. I was too afraid to reach out and try to bring you home until it was too late. I was too afraid of—of what you might be to look at what you _were_ . Too afraid of the Dark side to learn more about it. _I am sorry, Kylo.”_ She faces him, erect and grieving. The holocomm crackles with static, clears again. “I am not going to be afraid anymore. I love you. I will always love you. I want to see you again. Please. Will you—can you possibly forgive me?”

Deep within the _Falcon_ , something hisses. The holocomm panel beeps, one steady green light. Leia’s heartbeat echoes in her temples.

“I will try,” Kylo says at last.

 _“Thank you.”_ Leia’s knees buckle beneath her. She stumbles into the copilot’s seat. Neither of them quotes Luke now—it is clear that those words alone are hard enough for Kylo to say.

“Kylo. Will you—will you come home? Please. I can send a ship to the rendezvous point, pick you up from there—”

“I will try.” Kylo stares at her for a moment, expression frozen, then cuts off the holocomm.

Leia stares out the cockpit at the forests beyond the landing bay. Leans her head down into her hands _. Han,_ she says. _Han. I miss you so much._

 

 

 

“General Organa!” Tabala Zo vibrates just outside the door to the control room.

Leia looks up, hands tightening on the console.

Zo’s mouth opens, closes.

The roomful of officers parts for her like water as Leia rushes out of the room. Whispered gossip spreads from one corner of the room to the other, wondering what happened.

Leia holds up a hand in front of her face to shield herself from the rush of sand from beneath the Upsilon’s repulsorlifts. Luke ducks beneath the hood of his robes. Rey stands tall, staring out at the ship, vibrating with tension. She can almost feel Jess and Finn’s eyes on her from where they wait and watch from atop the base, peering out through the sniper holes in the low wall that rims the edge of the roof.

Silence.

The gangplank lowers.

More silence.

A pair of boots appear at the top of the entryway and halt in place. Rey can feel the pair of Stormtrooper pilots’ nervousness from where they sit in the cockpit, waiting for orders.

 _Thank you_ , she says to him. A bubble of silent laughter rises in her. _You leaped._

_You’re awfully smug._

_Not really._ Serious again, she presses: _YOU did this, Kylo. I—tried. Started it, maybe, but—you finished it. You can do this. You know that, right?_

Kylo steps down the gangplank. Leia leans forward as though drawn by the gravity of a giant star. His tunic swirls around his legs in the afternoon wind. His mask is on.

There’s a tiny click, like a lightsaber being drawn from its sheath, but Kylo’s hands are still by his side. It’s a moment before Rey sees it: his saber floats towards Leia, slow and steady, until it bobs by her hand. Kylo steps forward and kneels before them.

Leia blinks at him for a moment until she understands. “No— _no!”_ She bashes the saber out of the air and steps towards him. Kylo scrambles to his feet and steps back. Leia stops. “Kylo. I don’t want to hurt you.” Her voice breaks. “I'm so sorry. I’m so glad you’re back. I just—I just want to give you a hug. Is that ok with you?“

Kylo is completely still.

“Kylo,” Leia says, very soft. And then both of them are silent, facing each other. Leia’s eyes are slightly unfocused, as though looking at something beyond the realspace they stand in. She’s _showing him something,_ Rey realizes.

 

 

 

 _Starkiller joins the dust of Alderaan tonight. Her pilots are drunk. Her officers are drunk._ Everyone _is drunk tonight, everyone who knew anyone on Hosnia—and that’s nearly everyone on the base. Even the droids circulate aimlessly, exchanging nonsense bits of code with each other, marveling over the return of R2 and the two humans who worked so hard to get BB-8 back to the base._

_Leia is not drunk. She does not join the raucous crowd at the edge of the landing bay. She has climbed up to the roof to find a moment of peace, of solitude. She would like to hike up to the clearing, away from the hoopla, but she can’t. She can’t even turn off her comm. She must be reachable, if they need her. The galaxy will be in tumult for the next—she sighs. For the rest of her life, of course. When has it ever not been? She will never be able to hide her head under a rock, dive beneath the seas of Naboo, flee to the Outer Rim—_

_The thought makes her heart clench all over again, as though experiencing Han’s departure for the first time. He’ll never come back now. She is alone. Completely alone. Maybe Luke can be found, once Rey and Chewie return. But Han is lost to her forever, and Ben—Ben—_

_Leia sinks her head into her hands._

_Years ago—years and years and half a lifetime—she killed the Light in her son. Killed the padawans, as well. Every new report of his atrocities scratches another scar onto her skin. The time an entire squadron of her pilots failed to return. The time precisely half the villages on a rebellious planet were torched to the ground to send a message to the rest. The time Poe stumbled back onto the base after Jakku and fell to his knees before her, bloodied and broken._

_The freshest scar bears a crooked smile that has always melted the iron of her core into lava. But the hand that struck him down was still her own. Was it Vader’s touch in her? Was it the coldness of the Light, allowing her to detach from her own fierce love long enough to make a cool, rational decision? No matter how much good she ever does for the galaxy, it will not be enough. It will never be enough._

_Leia looks up into the stars and takes a sip for Alderaan. The sip for Han burns going down—his absence is now a cold hard fact, not a wistful memory. She stares into the tiny cup. The last sip of brandy sparkles in the light of the moons. Glitters between the facets of the cut glass. It’s the color of Han’s eyes. The color of Ben’s._

_Leia welcomes the sharp flame in her throat as she knocks back the last sip of brandy. She sets the empty glass aside and looks down at her hands._

_She has killed nearly as many as Vader, by now. Vader killed his wife. Tortured his daughter. Mutilated his son, then tried to kill him. Hasn’t she done the same, with the ones she loved?_

_Loves._

_Ben is still alive. Maybe someday he will return. Someday she will have a chance to figure out how to do this right. She will hold onto that for as long as she can. She has to. For herself. For Han. For the galaxy. And for Ben._

_Leia lies back on the roof and closes her eyes. Remembers a dark-haired baby, smiling up at her with Han’s nose and her eyes. Remembers the overwhelming gravitational pull of that love, eclipsable only by a need to do right by the galaxy. Feels the slow rush of the brandy as it sharpens the edge of her pain. She drinks to the ones she loves most. She drinks to the ones she killed._

_Come back, Ben, she thinks. Come back. Please. If you only knew how much I love you—_

 

 

 

Kylo stumbles back, shaking. He puts a hand to his mask as though to brush at his eyes, drops it back to his side. Looks down at Leia.

She stares up at him, face glittering with tears.

With shaking hands, Kylo lifts his hands to the sides of his face and unclasps his mask. Throws the helmet aside, steps forward to Leia, wraps his arms around her, and lowers his face to her hair. Inhales her mother-smell, unchanged after sixteen years. She leans her head to his chest and cries. They stand there for a long moment, together, united.

Rey wraps her arms around herself, shaken. Her eyes flick up to where Luke stands silently a few paces away. He looks at her.

 _I’m sorry,_ she says.

 _I’M sorry, Rey._ His mental voice shakes. _SO sorry. Rey, I—_

 _Can we start again?_ she asks, before she can lose her nerve. _Please?_

 _Of course._ The words rush out, fervent with relief.

She doesn’t know how to—she can’t—Luke opens his arms to her. She steps toward him, shaking, and hugs her father for the first time. His robes are soft and scratchy in equal measure, his breath warm on her head. She thought she would feel the same wound-tight panic she always feels when hugging someone for the first time, especially an older man, but she doesn’t. Hugging Luke just feels—ok. Safe. Home. Family.

 _Jess_ , she says, mental voice shaking. _Jess. It's going to be ok. We’re all going to be ok. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OK._

 

 

 

“Kylo—” Rey sighs. _Why are you wearing the mask?_ she asks.

 _Too many people,_ he snaps.

_You’re aware, of course, that you look weirder with it than without?_

_You’re aware, of course, that there’s a reason you’re a warrior and not a diplomat?_

Rey looks at him. Kylo busies himself with settling into a comfortable meditation pose on the duraplast chair. “You’re aware, of course, that you’re impossible?” she says aloud.

“You two must have the most _fascinating_ conversations.” Luke smiles placidly up at them from his own meditative pose.

Rey ignores him. “Your people skills are atrocious. How do you expect to learn if you never take off that mask?”

“Oh, I see. The scavenger’s an expert in etiquette now?”

“Kylo—” _I know you hate being here,_ she says. _But you can learn. You really can. If we’re going to work together, and persuade people to let us teach their Force-sensitive children, you’re going to have to learn how to people._

 _How to people,_ Kylo echoes. _How to…talk to people? Be nice to people? Suck up to people?_

 _Yes,_ Rey answers, ignoring his sarcasm. _All of those. When I first got here, I didn’t know how to talk to people. So I learned from Finn, and Poe, and Jess—well, actually, Poe most of all. Finn was learning Resistance culture, so he wasn’t much help, and Jess—Jess has her own delightful people skills, most of which involve intense profanity. So Poe taught me most of it. He called it lessons in_ How to People, _so that’s how I think of it._

A nurse opens the door to the lockdown room door and smiles at them. “He’s all set.”

“Thank you.” Kylo nods at her.

_There, see?_

_I grew up a senator’s son. You think I don’t know how to—_

“Maybe you can finish this later?” Luke raises a brow. “I’m sure this is important, whatever it is, but getting Poe out will take some time.”

“Right.” Kylo takes a deep breath.

 _Rey,_ he says.

_You can do this._

_I know that,_ Kylo snaps.

 _Then what’s going on?_ she asks.

 _When I finish_ . _When I free him._

_Yes?_

Kylo’s silent.

 _You will still be safe, Kylo._ She sends him a memory of the two of them together, sabers lit, fighting-dancing-laughing together. _They’re not just keeping you alive until you free Poe. They_ love _you. They want to make this work._

_Right._

_Leap,_ she says. _Of faith._

 _You learned that in the_ How to People _lessons?_

Rey doesn’t laugh. _No. I learned it when I left Jakku._

He’s silent. Opens a feeling to her, very suddenly— _people looking at him with angersuspicionfear, people expecting him to be Leia’s son, people expecting him to be a monster, people needing him to win this war, people hearing his tread and scurrying away before he even rounds the corner, whispering to each other in panicdisgustfury._

She just looks at him, eyes steady.

He looks back at her. Takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins.

 

 

 

Poe wakes up slowly. Here. Bed. Awake. Body. _Body._ He can hear his heartbeat, echoing between his ears. Feel his lungs rise and fall. Slowly he stretches, feeling down first one limb then another, overwhelmed by the rush of awareness in his body. Legs. Arms. Fingers. Torso. He’s _here._ He’s _real._ He’s _alive._ He’s _free._

Um.

Probably?

Shit. Unless this is another hallucination. His credits are on the hallucination, actually. _Shit._ He’d thought he was free. Luke came, after all, and talked to him. It had seemed real, realer than the other hallucinatory visitors he’d had.

But then he’d _died_ , so clearly, vividly, terrifyingly—felt his thoughts slow, and stutter, and his consciousness fade in and out, and then extinguish altogether. And then woken up, but— _how?_  

Must have been another trick of Ren’s, because he’d felt the banthafucking Darksider in his head again—he shudders involuntarily at the memory. He can feel his body again, but he still can’t see. Hear. Smell, even.

So apparently he’s back with them, trapped, prisoner again, no promises of Finn by his side. Honestly, that’s what hurts the most—that he can’t even imagine to himself anymore that Finn is holding his hand. He is well and truly alone again.

 _No._ Poe clenches his teeth against a groan. He cannot, _will_ not show them any signs of fear. _The Resistance will not be intimidated by you,_ he snarls, but his body still makes no sound. But he can move now, and he’s not restrained, thank the Force. So when they come for him again, he will go down swinging. He will go out as bravely as he came in. He will. He has to. He takes a deep breath—and coughs.

Someone presses a glass of water to his lips.

 _NO NO NO FUCK YOU NO NOT AGAIN_ —Poe smashes the glass away from his mouth and grabs for the hand that was holding it. His fingers connect with a solid wrist, wrap around it, and pull it down to his side. He uses the momentum to launch himself off the bed and press his attacker down onto the mattress, face-first, arm twisted behind his back. The man struggles beneath him, but does not draw a weapon. No one shoots him.

 _Come on!_ Poe shouts to them, feeling his control slip. _PLEASE._ He can’t let Ren get inside his head again, he can’t, he can’t, he’ll break the lock and take all of his knowledge of the Resistance and kill all of them and take Finn back and kill him and he can’t let them do that, he can’t—

The man twists underneath him with a lightning-fast jerk, grabs Poe’s wrists for a split-second before switching his grip to Poe’s hands, twists them up higher and higher behind his back, and pins him against a wall, knee jammed between his legs to hold him still, boots pressing on his feet to keep him from kicking back and up.

Poe struggles desperately, heart suddenly hammering in his ribs. He’s trapped. He’s trapped, and the man is right behind him, muscle and bone and unyielding strength. _NO_. _NO. Please. Let me go let me go let me go—_ He yanks against the man’s grip, frantically trying to free himself.

The man has both of Poe’s hands twisted up in one of his now. With his other hand, he’s scratching at Poe’s shoulder. Scratching—scratching—letters?

_POE POE POE_

Poe goes still.

_IT’S FINN_

_YOU’RE HOME_

_YOU’RE SAFE_

_REN IS UNLOCKING YOU_

_IT’S OK_

Poe twists in the man’s grasp, wishing he could see. His grip on Poe is unshakable, but not painful. It’s Finn’s size. It’s Finn’s shape. But most Stormtroopers are. He wouldn’t put it past Ren—in fact, he’d think it quite typical of Ren—to give him false hope for a moment by making him think that he was with a friend, only to yank that away from him.

The man is pressing something against his fingers—Poe instinctively twitches them away, then reaches back again, probing. It’s the man’s hand, fingers, a ring—Poe’s stomach swoops with a sudden stuttering breath. But it’s just a ring. Rings are easy to find. Poe shakes his head, refusing to give in. Ren expects him to fly this man back to the base, to give him some hidden tidbit of Resistance knowledge. He will not. He will keep them safe. He has to. He will not give up their secrets.

_GOING TO LET GO NOW_

_I DO NOT WANT TO FIGHT YOU_

_PLEASE LET ME EXPLAIN_

Poe relaxes, nods. The man lets go and steps back. Poe lunges at him, grabs his neck in a chokehold, and shoves him to the ground with a knee in his back. A large metal ball bumps Poe’s side. An interrogation droid—Poe’s stomach lurches in panic. The ball bumps him again. But no convulsing shock, no debilitating pain. A third time, and a small electric shock.

Poe jerks away from it, then freezes.

Not an interrogation droid, then. Interrogation droids do not do anything that could be described using the word _small._ Excruciating, agonizing, nauseating, yes. Small? Poe switches his grip to press down on the man’s neck with his forearm. He gropes cautiously towards the droid with his free hand—meets a round-domed head, an ovoid body. It’s buzzing at him in short, irregular bursts— _oh_. Blink code.

_POE POE POE_

Poe snorts. Whatever these are, they were clearly briefed with the same opening line.

_I AM BB-8_

_LET FRIEND-FINN UP NOW_

_NOT FINN,_ Poe taps back. _REN TRICK._

Short pause, then the droid buzzes back, _IS REAL FINN. PROVE REAL IF LET GO._

 _NO_. Poe hesitates for a moment. _BB,_ he taps instead. _PROVE YOU REAL._

 _GAVE MESSAGE TO FINN._ Poe freezes again, stomach tightening into one solid knot. _HE CRIED. RING ON SMALL FINGER RIGHT HAND NOW._

Poe fumbles for the man’s hands. One ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Another on the smallest finger of his right hand.

Poe’s hands shake. He lets go, sits down with a hard thump on the floor, arms still raised defensively in front of him. No one attacks. The droid bumps his side again.

 _REAL BB?_ Poe taps.

_SECOND TIME YES. POE NOT USUALLY SO SLOW._

Poe laughs, hesitantly wraps his arms around the droid. Home? Safe? No. No, he couldn’t be, he couldn’t—Poe presses his face to the rounded durasteel planes, slightly warmed by the energy from the droid’s servomotors. He can feel the droid lean down towards him, careful not to hurt him with the sharp angle of the bottom of his head. Poe can’t stop shaking. But he has to—he has to—

Poe reluctantly unclasps his arms from the droid and turns forward, to where Finn, or Finn’s impostor, was last.  

 _WHERE FINN?_ he asks the droid.

_FIVE FEET FORWARD, YOUR 11._

Poe turns slightly to the left and reaches out into the darkness with one tentative hand. Another hand grabs it. Even expecting the contact, it startles him. Poe holds on tight, flips the other hand palm-up, and traces letters onto it.

_PROVE REAL FINN._

The man is still for a moment, then painstakingly traces:

_YOU REMEMBER PRE-FLIGHT CHECKS WITH YOUR MOTHER’S NAME ACRONYM._

Poe snorts. True enough, and not something he tells a lot of people, but not enough. He shakes his head.

 _I REMEMBER,_ the man writes. Poe’s body jolts—then he remembers that it’s engraved on the ring. If they got their hands on the real ring somehow, they’d know, and no matter what the pseudo-BB-8 said, it doesn’t take a Force-user to guess that the phrase means something important to them. Poe shakes his head.

The man holds Poe’s hand for a moment, but does not write on it.

 _OH KRIFF,_ the man traces at last.

Poe freezes, mouth parted. He lifts a cautious hand to the man’s face. Traces over soft lips, and broad-sloping cheekbones, and smooth brow, and tightly coiled hair, and ragged shoulder-scar, and slight divot in the back of his head where a fellow trooper cadet once smashed the back of his head with a blaster, and then Poe’s hands are running down the scar on his back, beaded with synthebrae, and he digs his fingers into that one spot—

Finn jerks in his arms. Poe soothes the spot again with the soft pads of his fingers, apologetic. They may have put a prosthetic scar on a fake-Finn, but they probably wouldn't have known about the place that never quite healed. And they _definitely_ wouldn’t have known what Finn says, head tipped back, mouth parted, rising above Poe in the low light of their bunk—

It’s Finn, it’s Finn, it really is. Poe’s stomach lurches at the tail end of an unsteady barrel roll. He throws himself forward, flings his arms around Finn’s shoulders, and pulls him in tight, laughing hysterically. He might possibly be crying as well, and his tears might be soaking Finn’s shoulder, but it’s ok, because his own shoulder is wet with Finn’s tears, and they’re together again, he’s home, he’s safe, they’re ok, they’re all ok, they’re going to be ok—

They’re going to be _ok._ Poe’s arms tighten around Finn hard enough to be uncomfortable, but Finn doesn’t protest, just clenches his own arms until Poe can feel both of their hearts banging against their ribs like twin podracer engines arcing together.

 _YOU’RE HERE_ , Poe traces on the back of his neck. _YOU’RE HERE. FINN—_

Finn leans back slightly and cups Poe’s face in his hands. Poe’s hands rise to mirror his, still shaking. But it’s ok, it’s ok, they’re going to be ok—Finn seems to be waiting for him to make the first move, to really trust that it’s him. Poe’s honestly not quite sure he does, even with all of the evidence, but he’s going to try anyway, he’s going to try his damn hardest—Poe leans forward into the darkness and presses his lips to Finn’s.

He can feel the rush of Finn’s breath against his face as Finn presses into the kiss, pulls him closer, opens his mouth to welcome Poe in. He’s home, it’s over, it’s ok now—Poe kisses Finn with everything he’s got. Oh, wait—Poe pulls back for a moment, takes Finn’s hand. _SORRY I FOUGHT YOU_ , he writes.

 _IS OK,_ Finn writes back. _I FOUGHT BACK._

Poe stifles a snort at that.

 _No, really,_ Finn thinks to himself. _It was more than ok. When you started fighting back, I knew it was really you in there._ There’s a hot, fierce pull in his gut at the thought. _My pilot,_ he thinks. _My brave fierce reckless fighter of a pilot. I love you. So much._

 _REALLY HOME?_ Poe can’t help asking.

 _REALLY,_ Finn swears, underlining it twice _._

_CAN’T SEE HEAR—_

Finn cuts Poe off. _REN UNLOCKING YOU. CAN’T DO ALL AT ONCE. UNLOCK REST IN FEW HOURS._

_REN UNLOCKING?_

Finn nods against him.

_WHY?_

_REY._ Finn sneaks a swift kiss, clearly smiling—pride in Rey’s Darksider-wrangling talents, Poe suspects.

But that means—

 _REN IS HERE,_ Poe traces, trying to keep his breath steady _._

Finn nods again. _HE’S OK. REY IS GENIUS._

Poe tries to smile, fails miserably. _DON’T TRUST HIM._

Finn’s not sure if Poe means _I_ don’t trust him or _you_ shouldn't trust him, but either way— _TRUST REY,_ he writes back. _LEIA. LUKE._ He pauses, then adds, _ME?_

 _NOT AGAINST REN,_ comes the painfully honest answer.

Finn sighs, sweeps Poe’s hair off his face. Poe twitches back, startled at the unexpected contact. Finn’s hand drops quickly to his side. _YOU OK?_ he asks.

Poe shakes his head.

Finn snorts. _DUMB QUESTION,_ he writes _._ Poe laughs. He settles forward into his lover’s strong hug. Here makes sense. Finn’s arms. Finn’s warm body, lined up with his. He can’t even _smell_ Finn, which makes everything even weirder, as if it needed any help becoming weirder, but it’s ok. Right? It’s ok. He’s here. Finn is here. He ducks his head to Finn’s chest, feels Finn’s hand come up to cup the back of his neck. Oh. _Oh._ He leans back into it, trying to feel safe. Safe. Home. Ok.

Finn shifts slightly and looks back over his shoulder. Poe picks his head up, feeling Finn’s voice rumble in his chest. Finn turns back to Poe, picks up his hand.

_WANT REN TO UNLOCK YOU NOW?_

Yes? Poe’s mind tries to wrap itself around the idea, confused. Doesn’t he? But the feeling of just being in his body, in his own real flesh-and-blood _body_ again, is so confusing. Arms. Legs. Lungs. Heart. Head. Movement. To add onto that sight, and hearing—he’s not sure he could handle it right now, honestly. Poe dips his head again, thinks for a moment, tries to get his thoughts to follow a steady flightpath.

 _NOT NOW?_ he writes at last on Finn’s palm. _HOUR?_

 _IN ONE HOUR. OK?_ Finn confirms.

Poe nods.

Finn exchanges a few more words with whoever his interlocutor is, then turns back to Poe. _HOW ARE YOU?_ he asks. Poe shakes his head. Finn strokes the side of his face. Poe jerks away, uncomfortable again. He rolls back onto his heels, feels behind him for the edge of the bed, and scrambles up onto it. Slides back to sit against the wall, pulls his knees up to his chest, sinks his head down to his arms, and tries to pull himself together again. Everything is so _strange_. So _wrong._ So _unfamiliar_. It’s not ok. None of this is ok.

In an hour, Ren will free him. He’s home now, he’s ok, he’s free, he’s safe, he’s with Finn, he’s with the Resistance again. But—but everything is _wrong_ , still, and the sensation of air on his skin and mattress under his legs and wall against his back is too much to handle. He still can feel hallucinations lingering at his temples, right there if he moves his head too fast. His nerves feel scorched, battered, gone. His insides—

His insides don’t _hurt_. Not physically. More like they’ve been surgically removed, diced into small pieces, shoved back inside, lit on fire, and then thoroughly numbed.

Hurt? No. Ok? _Fuck_ no.

Poe ducks his head down to his knees and tries to breathe.


	17. i missed your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****************************************
> 
>  
> 
> My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart, concealing it, will break.  
> —Shakespeare, _Taming of the Shrew_
> 
>  
> 
> *****************************************  
>  
> 
> ***TW: panic attack, discussions of possibility of past rape.

Something presses down on the mattress beside Poe’s foot. He turns, braces himself. Nothing happens. Something presses down again. He reaches down to touch the mattress. Nothing is there.

Hesitantly, he reaches out a hand, palm up. Another hand takes it. Finn.

_FEEL BETTER?_

Poe takes a deep breath. He shakes his head with a small smile, but traces back— _LET’S DO THIS._

_SURE?_

Poe nods.

He imagines he can feel Finn’s smile. Finn presses his fingers to his lips, kisses them, then writes, _HE WILL NEED TO GO INTO YOUR HEAD AGAIN._

Poe freezes. He knew this, he must have known this, but still—he nods.

 _OK?_  Finn asks.

Poe’s shoulders lift in a helpless shrug.

 _CAN WAIT,_ Finn assures him.

_NOW._

Finn pauses. _OK,_ he writes back at last. _NEED TO KEEP YOUR HEAD STILL._ Poe nods. Finn hesitates, then continues, _THEY WANT TO RESTRAIN YOU._

 _NO FUCKING WAY._ Finn’s hand shakes slightly in his—Poe’s pretty sure that’s his laugh, echoing down his arms into his fingers.

_I KNOW. CAN YOU KEEP STILL?_

Poe thinks this over for a moment. Of course he can—but if Ren’s in his head, in his _head_ , looking around, oh Force— _HEAD IN YOUR LAP?_

Finn brings Poe’s hand up to his mouth—yep, definitely laughing. Lowers it again, writes: _OF COURSE._

 

 

 

So that’s where they are, a few minutes later: Finn sitting up against the wall, legs spread to either side of Poe, who is sprawled flat on the mattress with his head in Finn’s lap and his hands curling around Finn’s calves. There’s a pillow between Poe’s head and Finn’s lap, unfortunately, as neither of them trust Poe to actually be able to keep his head still enough to avoid inflicting any damage.

Finn frames Poe’s temples in his hands. Poe closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and slips into the whirling peace of hyperspace. Bright lines, blurred stars, deep blue, deeper black, black gloves, they must be black gloves, because those hands are _in his head_ again, and Poe fights, thrashes, struggles to get free, but he can’t, he shouldn’t, he has to stay still, and his head is trapped between restraints again, pressing in hard, keeping him in place, but they’re not restraints, they’re not, they’re warm and familiar and comforting but it’s not ok, not ok, not ok—

A choked gasp slips out of Poe’s lips. He presses them together, tight, forces his body to be still. Relaxed is too much to ask for right now. Not moving. Not moving. He can do this. He has to do this. Ren’s fingers are burning him up from the inside out, combing through his mind, searching for the map—no, no, that’s done now, it’s ok—searching for the _lock_ , that’s what they’re doing, and he’s found it, there’s a surge of satisfaction, the fingers twist the lock open again and it _hurts_ , it fucking _hurts_ , but that’s ok, he can deal with pain, it’s fear that he can’t stand, and there’s nothing to fear here, nothing to—to—

 

 

 

Poe is lying down.

There is a mattress underneath him. There is a sheet on top of him. He is wearing clothes. Soft clothes. Medbay clothes. There is something in his hand. He shifts—oh, it’s another hand. The hand moves in his, presses tight—oh, it’s Finn’s hand. Finn’s—

Eyes. Eyes—open! Now! Poe blinks. The room is blindingly bright. A muffled shout—oh, he can hear now. That’s nice. Also terrifying. He tries again. The room is darker now, but still visible. He blinks a few times. There’s a face looming above him. It’s Finn. _FINN—_

Poe surges up like the Falcon into flight. He hurls his arms around the blurry figure above him, presses his nose into Finn’s neck, inhales his familiar smell. Tries opening his eyes again, blinks several times, squints out at the world. Walls? Chair? Neck? Poe leans back, cups Finn’s face in his hands. Looks at him, just—looks—

Mead-bright eyes. Warm-earth skin. Sloping cheekbones, strong brows, soft mouth. Poe lifts a thumb to brush tears off Finn’s face.

Finn ducks, embarrassed. “I missed your eyes,” he whispers. “You were just— _blank_ , Poe. It was terrifying. I—”

“I’m here now,” Poe whispers. “I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Finn whispers. “Yeah, you are.” His hands rise to mirror Poe’s, sweep across jawline and stubble and mouth.

Poe gives the tiniest start at that—or is that Finn’s imagination?—because then Poe parts his lips and darts forward to suckle Finn’s thumb for a moment.

Finn laughs. “Missed me?”

“Oh, Finn.” Poe’s voice cracks. “You have no idea how much. I—” He clears his throat. “I—want to—apologize. I—”

“Yeah. I know. It’s ok.” Finn stands, runs a hand over the back of his neck.

“Finn—”

“It’s ok. We can talk about it later. Let’s just—get you out of the medbay, ok? They’ll probably want to check you over, and then—”

There’s a sudden rush of feet in the corridor, voices outside the room— ”We’ll resume training tomorrow morning, then?”

“Rey!” Poe lunges to the door to thank her for saving his life.

“Poe, no—” Rey shouts from behind the door.

“Wait, stop—” Finn leaps after him, but it’s too late: Poe opens the door and stares right into a chrome mask—

Poe’s slumped against the wall, sitting on the cold-tiled floor, halfway in and out of Finn’s arms, dragging in breath after hoarse breath. He’s not sure how long the attack lasted, but from the white rim around Finn’s eyes, it must have been a bad one. Poe touches his face, finds it slick with tears. Closes his eyes. Tries to breathe normally. “He’s here,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Finn whispers back. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“I knew that. I guess. I should have known. I did. I—”

“I’m so _sorry_ , Poe. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s under strict orders to stay far away from you. Rey said they thought you’d take longer to wake up. When they felt you waking up, they started to leave the medbay, and—” Finn shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

“You did.” Poe rubs his forehead, head aching. “Think maybe I’ll listen, next time.”

“Uh-huh.”

That gets a half-smile out of Poe. “Well. I’ll try, at least. I—” He straightens out slowly, back against the wall, legs stretched out before him. Leans against Finn, lays his head on his shoulder. “He’s here,” he whispers again. _I don’t even know if he—if he—_

“Yeah.” Finn angles his head to try to see Poe’s face. It’s not a good one. “I’m so sorry. He, uh. Has joined the Resistance. At least for now. They’re working with him. Getting details about the First Order. He commanded the Stormtroopers to join us, but most of them followed Hux’s faction instead.”

“How could he command them? He’s just got his Knights, and his star destroyer—”

“Oh.” Finn grins. “Right. You didn’t hear.”

“Hear what?”

“He killed Snoke.”

“He _what?”_

“He and Rey. Faced Snoke, and won. He made the killing blow.”

“Why would he kill—”

“Because he’s on our side now, Poe.” Finn cups Poe’s face in his hand, meets his eyes. “Rey—well, according to her, she shouted at him for a few days and he shouted back and she met Obi-Wan and Yoda and even Anakin—fucking _Darth Vader_ , she met him, went into the Force or something, she says, and eventually Kylo started to agree with her. They’re going to try to start a new Order of Force-users, combining Light and Dark. And he’s going to help us take the First Order down.”

Poe stares past Finn’s shoulder, eyes blank.

“Poe.”

_I don’t even know if he—_

_I don’t want to know._

_If he did, then Finn will want to kill him. Rey, also. My pilots. But what he may or may not have done is no different from everything else he did to me. Maybe the water was just to—to Force-lock me. Maybe he did what he threatened. Either way, it’s not relevant anymore. He’s fighting with us. We’ll have to work with him._ I’ll _have to work with him._

 _I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel safe around him. I thought when I got back to the base, I would be safe again. But I’m not. He’s still—here. Watching me. Looking into my head. I’m—not—safe—anywhere—I—_ Poe’s stomach loops through a double barrel roll without him.

“Poe,” Finn repeats, frantically patting Poe’s cheek. “Poe. Come back. Please come back.”

Poe blinks back into the present. “Oh,” he says, then falls silent.

“What—” Finn swallows, nauseous. “What did he do to you?” he whispers.

Poe turns to look at him, suddenly furious. “What do you think?” he snaps. “He—” Poe’s hand moves toward his head in an aborted gesture. He wraps his arms around his guts, shoves to his feet, paces across the room.

“I’m sorry.” Finn scrambles to his feet. ”You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”

“He was going to take my memories of you.” Poe turns back to him, face half-shadowed. “Make me—make me forget you— _everything—_ ” He shakes his head, puts a hand to his mouth.

“I’m _sorry,_ Poe.”

 _“Stop fucking saying that!”_ Poe shouts. “It’s not your fucking fault! It’s _his_.” He braces his hands against the wall, shoves against it.

“Poe—”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m—”

“Please don’t lie to me. Or at least tell me something halfway believable.”

Poe barks out a laugh. “Well.” The warm safety he’d felt in Finn’s arms just minutes earlier has disappeared entirely. “I just—we’re just going to win this thing, ok? We’re going to fight, and we’re going to win, and then everything will be fine. If this is what it takes.” He looks down at his clenched hands, jaw tight. “Then this is what I’ll do.”

“Poe—”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine, Finn. I’m fine. It’s ok.”

“Please stop saying that—”

“Comm Rey, please? I’d like to go thank her.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Poe.”

“I’d like to thank Rey,” Poe repeats. “And talk to Leia.”

“You don’t want to have to do this again,” Finn says.

Poe looks up at him, very slowly. “Do what again?”

“Recover.”

Poe’s head snaps back at that. “What the _FUCK_ are you—” His hands rise to protect his head.

Finn raises his hands and steps back, placating. “I’m not in your head, Poe. You know—”

“I _know_ ,” Poe snaps. “I just—”

“I’m sorry. I guessed. Because I—don’t want to do this either.” Finn looks sick to his stomach. “I—” He turns away, presses a hand to his mouth.

“Yeah. Well.” Poe wraps his arms around his stomach and turns away from his husband. He’s cold, dead, gone. His body still aches with the memory of restraints, fucking restraints, pinioned before a monster and locked in a small dark room and alone, _alone_ , bereft. Kylo’s seen everything. _Everything_ he’s ever been, seen, done, thought, felt. Maybe he’s even seen more of his body—no. _No._ There’s a small sound behind him—Poe turns, empty and exhausted.

Finn’s looking at the floor, taking slow, shaky breaths, knuckles pressed to his lips. Poe’s heart clenches at the sight. He’s halfway to Finn before he even realizes what he’s doing, just instinctively needing to—to—

He puts a hand on Finn’s shoulder. Finn looks at it, but does not move. Very carefully, Poe folds Finn into his arms. For a long moment, Finn just lets himself be held. At last he brings his own hands up to cradle the small of Poe’s back.

Poe leans in, grateful. Holds him close. Lowers his head to Finn’s shoulder. Closes his eyes. Just—just _breathes_. Tries desperately to reorient himself. Husband. Home. Base. Commander. Free. Alive.  Safe. He will be safe. He will believe that he is safe until he feels safe. Because nothing hurts as much as the look on Finn’s face, the feeling of him trying not to cry on Poe’s shoulder.

“We’re going to be ok,” Poe whispers. His voice rasps in his throat.

Finn is silent. Poe can feel each breath between his arms.

“We _are_ ,” Poe insists. “This—it was my choice. It was only a few days. Nothing bad even happened, in the end.” _I think._ “Rey came back. Ren—freed me. I’m back. I’m ok. Really. Or—I will be. I—might even be able to look at him someday without having a panic attack.”

Finn snorts.

“Yeah, ok. Not likely. But still.” Poe shakes his head. “I didn’t panic there, you know. Just—here. Where it’s a surprise. Where I thought I was safe. But I _am_ safe. I know that. I will be ok.” He leans back, cups Finn’s face in his hand, meets his eyes head-on. “I promise you. I will be ok.”

Finn’s mouth twitches. “Which one of us are you promising?”

Poe laughs, helpless. “Well.”

“No blasters.” Finn puts on a smile, but his voice shakes. “ _Please_.”

“ _Fuck_ no.” Poe’s arm tightens around his husband.

“Glad we’re clear on that,” Finn sighs. He lays his head on Poe’s shoulder. “Just—please—promise me you’ll talk about this at some point? To someone, anyone, doesn’t have to be me if you don’t want—”

“I will. I promise. Don’t worry.”

Finn picks up his head and looks at him.

“Yeah.” Poe clears his throat. “That was a dumb thing to say, wasn’t it? I—” He pauses. “I’m sorry I made the deal with him, Finn. I knew you wouldn’t have wanted me to. I—”

“It’s ok.” Finn shrugs off his words. “We can talk about it later. I’m just—really glad you’re back.”

“Yeah.” Poe nods, nods again. “Yeah. Well. That makes two of us.” He’s silent for a moment. “He was going to take you from me,” he whispers at last. Finn’s arms tighten around him. “Everything. All of us. _Finn_. I—”

“He _didn’t_ ,” Finn growls. _Just let him fucking TRY._ “He _didn’t_ , Poe. You’re ok. You’re—oh! Wait—”

Finn drops his arms and steps back. Poe opens his mouth, about to speak, then—

Finn takes Poe’s ring off his little finger. Poe’s breath stops. Finn holds out his hand. Poe looks at him, mouth parted, lips trembling. Finn looks back, eyes steady and—and far, _far_ older than he ever has a right to be.

Poe places his trembling left hand in Finn’s. Finn slides his ring into place. Poe looks at it. Looks up at Finn. Looks down at it. Swallows, swallows hard.

“Yeah.” Finn’s voice is hoarse. “I know.” He pulls Poe toward him, holds him tight, and buries his head in Poe’s shoulder. “I _know_.”

  


 

“Dameron.” Leia smiles up at him from her desk. “Glad you’re back with us.”

Poe nods at her, stiff. “General Organa. I’m glad to be back, ma’am.”

“You’ll be pleased to know, I’m sure, that you’re not grounded at all this time. Kalonia informed me that you are in adequate physical condition, and Luke informs me that he undid the lock he placed on your knowledge of the Resistance, but your psych clearance is still pending. You are, therefore, still off the active duty roster until your psych eval clears and Major Finn assures me that you’re getting enough sleep.”

“Well,” Poe snorts. “Too bad he’s not bribable. I knew one of these days I’d regret marrying an honest man.”

“He’s a good man,” Leia says, very quiet.

“Yeah.” Poe can’t help the small smile that rises to his lips, unbidden. He clears his throat. “I, um. I came here because I wanted to thank you for allowing Rey to come after me.”

Leia’s smile slides into a crooked smirk. “Wouldn’t have been able to stop her any more than I could stop you.”

“Still,” Poe shrugs. “Thank you. I owe you my life.” His mouth quirks to match hers. “As usual.”

“But,” Leia supplies. There are, after all, many advantages to being Force-sensitive. Chief among them is the ability to know when one’s officers are thinking and saying something different.

Poe’s jaw tightens. “No. That’s all. Thank you. I—I owe you so much.”

“Dameron. I’m sorry. About—Kylo staying here. This is not fair to you. Not what a good general should do, to protect the troops under her charge.”

Poe clasps his hands behind him. “A good general uses what she has to win the war. That’s—that’s what you’re doing. I understand. It’s a good decision.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Leia snaps. “The galaxy is dangerous enough. The base needs to be a safe place for everyone on it. Right now, it’s not for you, and I am deeply sorry for that. But not sorry enough to station him elsewhere, which is a cruelty to you. If he were not a Force-user, we would hold a trial. Which would, most likely, result in his—execution. Life imprisonment, at least. But he does have the Force, and we need him, so he gets special treatment, which is not fair.”

“It’s fine—”

“Don’t placate me, Dameron.”

Poe looks down at her, silent.

“He is under strict orders to stay far away from—”

“That’s not necessary, ma’am.”

Leia raises a brow.

“I need to—to get used to him. Like any other trigger. I can’t avoid him forever. Not if he’s going to be part of the Resistance. I have to face him.”

“Dameron—” Leia sighs and rubs her forehead. “Anyone who volunteers for the Resistance is by definition a masochist. But you take first prize, for sure. Why—”

“I _need_ to.” Poe’s not quite sure how to explain.

“You, of all people, ought to know that being afraid does not mean being a coward.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it.”

“I can’t go around afraid of my own shadow. Wondering when I’ll walk around a corner and see him. I’ll be _fine_ , General.”

Leia pinches the bridge of her nose and stares at her desk, expression fixed.

“You, of all people, ought to know that crying does not mean being weak,” Poe says, very softly.

Leia’s eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “Dismissed,” she says.

Poe remains standing.

“ _Dismissed,”_ Leia snaps again.

Poe folds his arms across his chest.

Leia stares past his shoulder, eyes blank. “The things my son has done to you,” she says, nearly inaudible.

“Your son. Not you. It’s not _your_ fault.”

Her jaw clenches. “ _Dismissed_ ,” she bites.

Poe leaves.

 

 

 

She’s in the clearing, as usual. Perched on the large flat rock beneath the spreading asuka tree, balancing precariously on one hand, body stretching into the air, toes pointed to the sky. As Poe watches in jaw-dropped awe, she bends her elbow until her hair brushes the surface of the rock, then straightens again in a one-handed handstand pushup.

And repeats the motion. Again. And…again.

Poe drops cross-legged to the ground and just admires her durasteel strength. Can Finn do that? He’ll have to ask. He’s never seen him do it before, but he wouldn’t be surprised.

Ok, maybe a little surprised. That’s got to _hurt_. And—balance? Would that be possible, without the Force? He’ll have to dare them to compete, one of these days.

While he watches, of course. From the sidelines. Poe’s passably strong, fighting condition, but…well. They are something else.

Rey ends the set not in a sweaty collapse, like a mere mortal, but by propelling herself into the air, tumbling head over heels, and landing in a fighter’s crouch, saber out and lit.

Poe applauds. That is, of course, the only reasonable response. “You definitely had some extra help for that last move. I don’t think that’s physically possible.”

Rey smiles. “Probably not, no. I wouldn’t recommend trying it.”

“And the rest?”

She shrugs.

“I’m just going to stay on your good side, ok?”

Rey sheathes her saber, hops down from the rock, and settles to the ground before him with a small smile. “That sounds like a good plan to me. Did you want to meditate now?”

“I was hoping you’d be interested, yes. But first. Rey.” Poe clears his throat. “I wanted to thank you. For coming to rescue me. For staying to convince Kylo he could return. You saved my life. I—I owe you. Everything. For—what, the third time, by now? Fourth?”  

“You’re welcome,” Rey says. Her gaze is steady on Poe’s.

“I,” Poe says. He pinches a fold of his shirt, pleats it beneath his fingers. “I’m.” He swallows. Looks back up, at last. “I’m so sorry, Rey. I never meant to put you in danger. If I’d known he was after you, I never would have gone. Or—I’d have asked Luke to lock up my memories of you, as well. I’m so sorry I broke. I’m sorry he threatened you.”

Rey shrugs. “You are not responsible for his actions.”

“I—”

She cuts him off with a raised brow. “You’re _not_.”

“I am still sorry for it.”

Her eyes are the color of Correlian brandy, fine-aged, gleaming in the light. Sharp as brandy, too, when it burns the back of his throat. “Well,” she says. “Saving Finn—Luke might have called that giving in to the Dark side. Choosing passion over calm. But.” She spreads her hands on her knees, looks at each in turn. “It worked. And I’d rather not think about what things would have been like if it hadn’t. It was my choice to go. Not yours. Not his. So.” She shrugs. “The Force seeks balance. But you’re allowed to be sorry, if you want. And I forgive you.”

Poe looks down at the pleats between his fingers, takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he says, very soft.

Rey waits until his eyes return to hers. “You’re welcome,” is all she says. “I’ll be sure he keeps far away from you—”

“No.” Poe grits his teeth. “I need to get used to him. Please, don’t do anything different on my account.”

She stares at him for a long time. “All right, then,” she says at last. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles. Turns her palms to the sky. “You wanted to meditate?”

Poe nods, throat tight. _Thank you,_ he says again, loud, intended for her.

 _A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away,_ she says. _I had no power. Now I do. So, thank you. For the opportunity to use it. To save someone else._

Poe opens his eyes and looks at her. She looks back. He nods. She smiles. They close their eyes again and breathe, together, skin warmed by the sun.

 

 

 

He’s perched atop _Black One,_ adjusting the wiring that connected BB-8 to the ship’s navicomp, when he sees them. Walking across the hangar, on their way from the base to the forest. Sand-hued tunic, worn leather boots, erect bearing, circle of braids. Hunched shoulders, sweeping black cloak, pleated tunic.

It’s not until Poe’s pliers clatter to onto the durasteel of _Black One’s_ hull that he realizes his hands are shaking. _Breathe, Poe,_ Finn says. _In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four._

Poe closes his eyes and drags in a slow breath, but his eyes snap open without his permission and fix themselves on the distant figure.

Long-beaked nose. Scar, slashing across his face. Bleak eyes, just as night-dark as he remembers. Tumbles of black hair, falling to his neck.

_Jungle._

_Sunset._

_Dangerous-crazy-raging-child._

Only three of those are still true.

The hangar doors slide shut behind Rey and Kylo at last. Poe sits with a rough thump on _Black One’s_ hull, folds his head into his knees, and works on restoring his blood oxygen levels. His face—his face—Ben Solo is _dead,_ Poe reminds himself. Maybe Kylo Ren is as well. Without the mask, this man is—just—

[EVIL FUCKING ASSHOLE.]

Poe snorts. “Yeah, BB.”

[UGLY, TOO.]

Poe’s lips twitch despite himself. “Be nice.”

[WHY IS IT WORSE TO CALL HIM UGLY THAN EVIL?]

Poe blinks. “Because,” he says at last, with absolute conviction. He picks up the pliers, stares at them, and tries to remember how to move his fingers. At last he fits the last connection into place, picks up his soldering iron, and seals the new circuit.

“How’s that work?” he asks. A swift buzz of Binary between BB-8 and the navicomp, a rising trill, then—

[SPIFFY.]

Poe raises a brow, tries the word out. “Spiffy.”

[YES.] BB-8 twirls around, whistles in delight. [ABSOLUTELY SPIFFY.]

Poe tips back his head and laughs, finally able to breathe.

 

 

 

By the time they’re done with the evening meal, Poe’s starting to get dizzy with exhaustion. No one’s asked him about his time on the _Vengeance,_ for which he is eternally grateful. It’s all he can do to keep himself from lowering his head into his hands and losing it completely. He’s home. _Home._ With his friends, his comrades, his pilots. His lover.

Maybe his tablemates can tell. Maybe they’re just happy to have him back? Either way, the conversation is light and the banter is constant. Poe engages as best he can, giddy with the pure joy of wordjousting with the people he loves.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s fallen silent until Finn’s hand settles low and warm on his back. He blinks and straightens in his seat, clenching his jaw against a yawn. Looks up to find Finn’s eyes on him, a soft smile on his face.

Poe bites his lip, lifts Finn’s hand from where it rests on the table, and kisses it. Finn raises a brow. A small sigh catches Poe’s attention from across the table—he looks up to find Jess’ eyes on the pair of them. He smirks at her. “Falling down on the job, you know. Where’s my disapproving auntie, telling me to get a room?”

“Go on, you.” Jess flaps a hand in his direction.

“Really? That’s all you’ve got?”

Finn covers his eyes. Karé props her chin on one hand. Rey snorts.

“Fine, ok, get a room, you pair of disgusting lovebirds.” Jess’ eyes are overbright. Rey shifts ever so slightly closer to her, until her shoulder touches Jess’.

Poe holds Jess’ gaze and waits.

Jess looks down at her lap. “Ok, fine, I missed your face,” she mumbles. “This one doesn’t smile when you’re not here.” She jerks her chin up at Finn. “Makes me feel like I’m living inside a command debriefing.”

“I smile!” Finn protests.

“You pretend to,” Umoka cuts in from the far end of the table.

Finn shrugs. “Ok, I pretend to. But you’re supposed to believe what your CO tells you.”

Poe exchanges a glance with Jess. One—two—three—four—nope, they both lose it in a fit of laughter.

“Believe your—CO,” Jess gasps. “Oh, Force. I haven’t heard anything so funny in—”

“Ok, that’s it, we’re done here.” Finn drags Poe up out of his seat and towards the mess hall entrance, desperately trying to keep a straight face. When the swinging doors bang shut behind them, they can still hear Jess’ bright laughter ringing above the din of the mess, accompanied by Rey’s bubbling giggle.

The laughter lasts the pair of them most of the way down the hallway. It’s not until they’re almost at the barracks that Poe notices Finn’s sudden silence. “Hey.” He elbows Finn as they round the corner to the pilots’ wing. “What’s going on?”

Finn shakes his head and smiles at him. “Nothing. Why?”

Poe raises a brow. “Ok, I see what they mean about pretending to smile.”

“I’m fine!”

“Finn.”

Finn avoids Poe’s eyes as he presses his fingers to the biometric reader by their door. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

“That’s not even—what did you say earlier? Halfway believable? Just—I mean—if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m fine. You just got back. I’m just—really glad that you’re here. Safe. Free. I just—want to focus on that.” Finn turns to him at last, face half-lit by the hall lights as he steps through the entrance to their bunk.

“…ok,” Poe says, reluctantly letting it drop. He steps cautiously further into their room and looks around as Finn closes the door behind them and leans his head against it for a moment. No shrine, thank the Force. Well, he was never officially dead, despite multiple signs pointing towards his imminent demise. Poe looks back over his shoulder.

Finn’s still leaning against the door.

Not a good sign.

“Finn?” Poe murmurs, moving closer. “Finn. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

Finn turns around and looks at him, eyes dull. He rubs his forehead, covers his face, sighs. “Why did you do it?” he asks at last, voice tight. “Give yourself up. Why? I’ve told you. Over and over again. I don’t want you to die for me, Poe. I fight for the Resistance, same as you. I know what I signed up for. I’m willing to die for it, if need be. And you’re never going to let me, if you have any chance to save me. I have never asked for that and I never will and _you shouldn’t have done it!”_

“I know you didn’t want me to.” Poe’s voice scratches low in his throat. “But I _had_ to. It was for the good of the Resistance—”

“Bantha shit! Leia told me herself she ordered you not to go.”

“She didn’t order me not to go, she _told_ me not to go. There’s a difference.”

“Bantha shit!” Finn snarls. “Even she didn't want you to go, but you did it anyway, because of your fucking hero complex—” He lunges a step towards Poe, fists half-raised.

_“Why are you yelling at me for saving your life?”_

“Because you were going to die!” Tears roll openly down Finn’s cheeks.

A week— _no,_ Poe realizes. _Six months_ and a week of grief twist Finn’s face into a furious mask. “Finn, I—”

“ _NO!”_ Finn screams at him. “You were going to die!"

“So were you!” Poe roars back. “I can’t sit back and let that happen!”

Finn sags back against the door.

“Finn.” Poe’s voice cracks. “Finn. I couldn’t let you die up there.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, wrecked. “I knew you wouldn’t want me to. I knew Leia didn’t want me to. None of that could have made a difference. It _was_ for the good of the Resistance. And for the Stormtroopers. And for you. I—” He swallows, closes his eyes. “There was no way, Finn. In any galaxy. That I could leave you up there to die.”

Silence.

When Poe looks up again, Finn’s eyes are locked tight onto his.

“Finn—” Poe steps forward.

“I know.” Finn glares at him through his tears. “What you did was _stupid_ ,” he growls. “And _reckless_. And _selfish_. If you’d come back the next day, I’d have _throttled you against the wall!_ But you—” Finn lunges across the room and slams a fist into the chair behind the desk. It careens off into the corner, spinning wildly. He stares after it, panting, shoulders falling in surrender. “But you didn’t.” He’s silent for a long moment. Finally he turns back to Poe, face glittering.

“You didn’t,” he repeats, hoarse. “And you were never—” Finn closes his eyes, sucks in a long breath, opens them again. “Poe,” he says, soft. “You were _never going to come back._ And so—so I had time to think. About what you did. About you. About—about all of this, I—look, Poe. I’m furious that you did it. _Furious!”_ he growls, voice shaking.

“But you were always going to.” Finn presses his knuckles to his mouth. “Because—because that’s who you are, Poe. And that’s part of what I love about you. You’re brave. You’re loyal. You’re loving. I—I _hate_ the part of you that’s willing to die because of that. That’s willing to die because of _me._ I _hate_ it.”

He drags in a breath, lets it out, drags in another. “But it’s also part of who you are. And I love you. And so I—I— _Poe_.” Finn’s voice cracks. “So I’m trying to find a way to love that part of you, too. Or at least accept it. Because it’s—it’s you. And I love you.” Finn looks up at last.

Poe’s pressing his fingers to his mouth, tears rolling freely down his face, unable to speak.

Finn takes a deep breath to steady himself. “So—so— _thank you._ For saving my life. My squadron. _Thank you._ Don’t you _ever_ do that again. Please. _EVER._ But—thank you.”

“Finn—”

“It was incredibly brave, Poe. _Incredibly._ Not just to surrender your life, but to surrender to _him_ —” Finn stops short, seeing the lines around Poe’s eyes pull tighter. “I can’t—I can’t even imagine what it took to do that.”

“Seven panic attacks in 24 hours?” Poe’s lips twitch up at the edges.

“Seven— _fuck_ , Poe! _Fuck._ ” Finn folds Poe close to him as though he can crush the memory with the strength of his arms.

Poe leans into the hug, brings his arms up around Finn’s back. “You’d have done the same,” he murmurs.

Finn snorts.

Poe pulls back to look at him, fierce. “You would have. If it had been the other way around. You know you would have.”

Finn sighs. “Yeah,” he says at last, very quiet. “Yeah. I would have.”

“I—” Poe takes a deep breath, sighs. “Finn.” He cups Finn’s face in his hands. “I’m _sorry_.” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry. I—I don’t know if I can change that part of me. But I will try. I _swear_ to you, Finn.”

“No.” Finn presses his forehead to Poe’s with a ragged sigh. “It’s—that’s what I was trying to say. I understand. It’s who you are. It’s ok.”

“You’re allowed to hate parts of me,” Poe says, voice soft. “Force knows _I_ do.”

“Yeah,” Finn huffs out a teary laugh. “Well. Look.” Finn’s thumb brushes over Poe’s cheekbones, just below his eyes. Poe closes his eyes and sighs under the soft touch. “If I could wrap you up in blankets and ship you off to Yavin IV and keep you safe there, for the rest of your life, I would. But—” His lips twitch, rueful. “That’s never going to happen.”

Poe smiles, but his eyes are starting to sting. “Someday.”

“Yeah.” Finn’s voice cracks. “Yeah. Someday.” He clears his throat. “But—but not today. Not until we crush them. For once and for all. And so—” He drags in a shuddering breath, lets it out. “So—so be who you are.”

He pulls Poe close with a sudden driving need and buries his face in Poe’s shoulder, arms durasteel-tight around Poe.

Poe closes his eyes and holds on even tighter. _I love you,_ he tries to say, _so much, so fucking much, you have no idea, oh Force, I needed you there with me—_ but his throat is too tight to speak. So he just breathes, breathes, and hope the force of his arms transmits his love as well as his words ever could. “If this happens again,” he rasps at last. “What do you want me to do?” He steps back to look at Finn.

Finn stares back at him. “I want you to make a decision you can live with,” he answers, voice unsteady. “Whatever—whatever that means, at the time, in the situation.”

“Ok,” Poe nods. “Ok.”

“And for you?” Finn asks. “What do you want me to do?”

“The same.” Poe blinks at Finn, vision blurred with tears. “The same. Just please—please—” His voice cuts out. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

Finn pulls him into his arms, close and fierce and warm. “I missed you,” he whispers.

“I missed you too,” Poe whispers back, nearly inaudible. He kisses Finn, deep and fierce, trying to say all of the things he can’t say out loud. _I could never have let you die there,_ he says. _Someday we’ll make a home together, safe and free. Maybe in this lifetime. Maybe in the Force. Someday._

When they break apart for air at last, Finn leans his head on Poe’s shoulder, shaky. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he murmurs. “I really—didn’t mean to.”

Poe’s breath huffs out in a laugh. “Well. I’m pretty sure I deserved that one.”

“Still. I didn’t mean to. I really wasn’t going to. I’m sorry.”

“You only said it because I pushed you to.”

“Still,” Finn repeats.

“It’s ok,” Poe says, voice soft. “I’m—” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I made the deal. Knowing you wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

Finn sighs, long and heartfelt. “Forgiven,” he murmurs, voice rough. Poe closes his eyes and listens to his lover’s heartbeat. Finn’s hands slide down to the small of Poe’s back and press him close. They stand together, leaning into each other’s embrace, relearning the patterns of their bodies, taking comfort in the soft echoes of their breath.


	18. let me take care of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***************************************
> 
>  
> 
> you will find your way.  
> it is  
> in the  
> same place  
> as  
> your love.  
> —seek
> 
> (from _Salt_ , by Nayyirah Waheed) 
> 
>  
> 
> ***************************************
> 
> ***TW: discussions of potential past rape.

Poe’s not sure how long they stand there, together, coming back to each other. But now that they’re back on solid ground, and they’re safe, and they’re home, and the bunk is quiet around them—Poe’s hands slide lower, lower, lower, cupping the familiar hard curve of Finn’s ass.

Finn’s chuckle rumbles between their bodies. “Now that,” he murmurs, “is what I call a good idea.”

“Mmm?” Poe presses a kiss to the side of Finn’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt. “Well. Good. I was kind of hoping you might say that.” He sucks in a small mark, high enough to be visible. Finn shudders beneath his mouth.

“Poe,” he groans. “Oh, fuck. _Poe.”_ His voice cracks with all of the emotion he can’t quite say aloud. He steps backwards, pulling Poe with him, hardly glancing behind him to see where he’s going.

Poe leans his head into Finn’s chest and lets his lover pull him towards the bed, feeling a flush of heat start deep in his bones and spiral outwards. But—wait—

“Oh.” Poe tugs against Finn’s hands, stops short before they reach the bed. “Wait, just—” He lets go of Finn, rubs the back of his neck. “Look.” Poe huffs out a breath. “I—look, I’ve gotten over it before and I’ll get over it again, but just—for now, just—please—If you could try not to—um. Do that Ren-move.”

“The hand-to-your-head thing?”

Poe’s lips twitch up, rueful. “Yeah. That.”

“Of course. Or—I’ll try really hard not to, at least. It’s hard to catch, sometimes. But I’ll watch out for it.”

Poe nods, tapping a finger on his leg. “Thanks.” More re-training himself to not be triggered anymore. His favorite way to pass the time.

“Hey.” Finn steps closer, runs a hand down Poe’s arm. “It’s ok.”

“I know.” Poe looks up again to meet Finn’s eyes, straightens his shoulders. “But I’ve always hated redoing drills.”

“Yeah,” Finn laughs. “Well. I know. But practicing is the difference between flying home and falling home, so…”

“Stop using my own words at me. It’s rude.”

Finn grins. “You asked for it. Anything else I should know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll let me know?”

“Course.” Poe snorts. “It will probably be blaringly obvious and involve hyperventilating.”

“Yeah. Well.” Finn smirks at him. “You’ve never been terribly subtle.”

“Hey.” Poe headbutts him in the chest. Finn laughs, frames Poe’s face with his hands, brings him up for a kiss.

“Oh.” Poe breaks off from the kiss. “Yeah. There is another thing. Um. No hands on wrists?”

Finn nods, unsurprised, and makes many loud mental notes to himself to be sure he doesn’t forget. “I can do that.” He smiles at Poe, trying for lighthearted, but his smile starts to calcify on his face underneath Poe’s sharp gaze. Finn tangles his fingers into Poe’s hair to distract him. It doesn’t work.

“What?” Poe asks, soft.

Finn lets his hands fall, looks down, and scrubs his toe on the floor for a moment, gathering himself. “Is there anything else I—should know?” he asks at last. “If—if you can talk. About it. I just—wanted you to know. Anything—you need to talk about.” He glances up at Poe.

Poe stares at him, expression fixed.

“Ifnotthat’sok,” Finn rushes out. “Totally ok. I just thought—if you need to talk. I can listen. If—if you want—to talk about it. What—he did. To you.”

“Thank you,” Poe nods. He’s quiet for a moment, not knowing how to go on.

Finn’s hands are tight fists at his sides.

“ _Oh_ ,” Poe says, when the transmission decrypts. He looks up at Finn again, stricken. “No. _No_. He didn’t. I’m ok.”

“Oh,” Finn says, unsteady. “Oh.” He sits on the bed with a sudden slump, as though the energy binder connecting his engines has snapped, and puts his head in his hands. “Oh,” he says again, unable to think past that.

Poe sits beside Finn, feeling his own energy binders start to crackle off. “He didn’t,” Poe repeats. “He _didn't._  Finn. It’s ok. It’s—”

Finn grabs him into a strangle-tight hug, hands shaking on Poe’s back. Poe hugs him back harder, swallowing back tears. _He didn’t,_ he thinks to himself. _He didn’t._ But _he could have_ is the thought that always follows, _he could have,_ and _maybe he did_ is the thought that follows that, _maybe he was so gentle and careful that I didn’t even feel it after, or maybe he kept me drugged out long enough to recover,_ but those are flightpaths he cannot follow to the end. Poe shifts in his seat to remind himself that he’s not naked.

Finn leans back suddenly, takes Poe’s face in his hands. “You’re sure.”

“I would know,” Poe answers, laughing through his tears. Finn’s mouth opens, closes. He pulls Poe in again, holds him as though his grip is the only thing keeping Poe from drifting into the upper atmosphere.

“You’re here,” Finn murmurs. “You’re really here. You’re ok?”

“Yes. I’m ok, Finn. I mean, I’ve been better, but I’m—I’m ok.”

“I saw the transmission,” Finn mumbles into his shoulder.

Poe’s hands grow cold. “That he sent to Rey.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Poe murmurs.

“ _You’re_ sorry? Poe. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“That you had to see it. I—” If it had been him on the base, and Finn in that chair, Poe’s not sure anything could have stopped him from flying out on a reckless, suicidal mission to take Ren out for once and for all.

“I can’t unsee it,” Finn whispers into the curls at the base of Poe’s neck, nearly inaudible. “You, the chair, the—”

Poe pulls him in harder, throat aching. “I’m _sorry_ , buddy. I’m so sorry.”

“He could have,” Finn murmurs, echoing the words rattling around in Poe’s own head. But—

“He _wouldn’t_ have.” Poe shifts back for a moment to look at Finn, very serious. “He wasn’t even interested. He liked the threat, is all. He knew he could use it to scare me. You. Rey. But he was never going to go through with it.”

Finn searches Poe’s face, disbelieving. “How do you know?” he asks at last.

“He told me.” Poe sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “Look. So. I knew that—that he’d agreed to the deal for a reason, and I didn’t know what that reason was, but, well—” His fingers flick towards his head. “I knew he’d try to find—something, and then when he found it—” Poe shakes off the thought.

Finn growls low in his throat and tugs Poe closer.

“So. I thought—if he had some use for me. Beyond—” his mouth twists. “Then maybe he’d—” Why is it so fucking hard to talk about? It happened. He lived. Everything is ok now. Well, except that he’s still—but that doesn’t matter. That will be fine. He will be fine. Everything will be fine. “He’d—keep me alive longer,” he finishes, hoarse.  

Finn’s silent. Poe twists back in his arms to see his expression. Finn hides his face in Poe’s shoulder. “Finn. Finn, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“No. No, no. Please. Don’t apologize.” Finn lifts his head up to meet Poe’s eyes. “Anything you need to say, say it. I’m—I’m glad that you tried to—to survive. Really, really fucking glad. And I’m glad that he—didn’t.”  

“Yeah,” Poe sighs. Life is so fucking fragile. Bodies are so fucking fragile. Why is everything so fucking—

“And you’re—ok? I mean—more or less? You’re—”

“Yeah,” Poe answers, stronger. “I am. I will be. Or something. I’m here. You’re here. Rey’s here. We’re alive. Everything is ok.” He’s not quite sure if the words are factual or hopeful, but either way, they feel good in his mouth. “Finn,” he murmurs, just because he can. He leans into the soft fuzz on the back of Finn’s neck, feels the cool press of Finn’s ring against his back.

They stay that way for what feels like half the night, returning to the feel of each other’s bodies. Breathing each other’s air. Poe closes his eyes and tries to feel safe. Almost manages it—or, at least, comes closer than he has since this whole nightmare started. Room. Bed. Beloved. Arms, around him. Heartbeat, beneath his ear.

“Poe.” Finn ducks his head into his lover’s shoulder. “Let me take care of you? Please. Just for tonight.” His voice cracks. “Let me make love to you.”

“Of _course_.” Poe presses a kiss into Finn’s neck. “ _Please.”_ He pauses. “Thank you? I'm not sure what—”

“Nerfherder,” Finn interrupts, laughing. He pulls back for a moment, cups Poe’s face in his hands, and kisses him, long and sweet. “How do you want me?” Finn asks when they break apart again, grinning wickedly.

And that’s when Poe loses his breath, and his train of thought, and—oh. Question? That was a question? “Every way,” Poe answers, suddenly breathless. “Any way. All of the ways. Everything.”

Finn cracks into laughter. “I can work with that.” He sweeps a hand under Poe’s knees, deposits him on the mattress, and looks down at him for a moment, backlit by the bunk’s dim glow.

“Now there’s a man who likes what he sees,” Poe murmurs, propping his head up on his elbow. “Pretty nice view from down here, too.” His eyes travel up the length of Finn’s body, lingering on the shadowed profiles of the long muscles of his legs, snagging on the tight stretch of fabric across Finn’s crotch, sliding up across the flat planes of his abs and chest beneath the soft folds of his shirt, and landing on his face. “Are you smirking at me? Rude.”

“No one ever teach you staring is rude too, Poe?”

“Nah. It would be rude to _not_ stare. A body like yours was made to be ogled. Um.” Poe cocks his head. “Consensually ogled? Do you consent to being ogled?”

“When it’s you?” Finn grins and swaggers closer. “Yes. Let’s just make that a blanket _yes_.”

Poe grins back. “Good. Because covering you up with clothes?” He shakes his head. “A crime.”

“Crime, huh?” Finn’s chest loosens at seeing Poe’s smile. “Well. You too, you know.” He kneels by the bed in a rush, cups Poe’s face to his, and kisses him until their lips are humming. _“Force_ ,” he whispers at last. “ _Force,_ Poe. How are you so beautiful?”

Poe shrugs. “Well, around thirty-four years ago, my mom and my dad—”

Finn kisses Poe just to shut him up. His fingers find the buttons of Poe’s shirt and eliminate them one by one with the ease of long practice.

He is, of course, a man of many talents, some of which he is quite proud of. For example, the ability to take off or put on his jacket while running on cold mornings without breaking his stride. Also, the ability to strip Poe naked without breaking a kiss. Useful skills to have on hand, especially at times like these, when he can run his hands over the warmth of Poe’s chest without any fabric-related interference. Can segue straight to sucking on a nipple, purely to relish the way Poe’s breath comes short at the touch, and undo Poe’s fly while he’s at it.

Multi-tasking, see, that’s the key—to—yeah, nope, once the pants are sliding down there’s not quite enough blood in his brain anymore to do two things at once. Poe lifts his hips so Finn can slide his pants and boxers down and off. As Finn tosses the bundle of pants over his shoulder, Poe shrugs his shirt all the way off and flings it aside—which leaves his hands entirely free, as Finn turns back to him, to descend on Finn’s own soft shirt.

A quick yank, fumbling fingers on Finn’s fly, a hop and a toss, a pile of pants in the corner, a pillow under Poe’s hips, a short scramble up, and Finn’s kneeling between Poe’s legs, one long line of glowing skin and mischievous eyes and curving muscles and—yeah, ok, there’s still some ogling going on. Well-deserved, Poe would like to note, if anyone would like an official report later. But—

_Oh._

_Hnngh,_ Poe groans, or something like that. Finn isn’t taking notes anymore. There comes a time when actions speak louder than words, or…something like that, or maybe Poe just looks even more fucking gorgeous with his ankles pushed back to either side of his ass, knees in the air, hole spread and inviting beneath Finn’s tongue. He runs his tongue around Poe’s rim yet again, just to hear him make that noise— _yup—_ and then finally presses his tongue inside, licking into his lover’s wet warmth. Poe jerks under his touch and reaches down to brush his fingers across Finn’s hair.

With one hand stroking Poe’s balls and the other cupping the round muscle of Poe’s ass, Finn settles into rimming Poe for all he’s worth. Poe’s muttering something, definitely not in Basic. Finn’s picked up enough Yavinese over the years to decipher the general gist— _oh fuck something you’re incredible something something oh Force how are you something something fuck I love you, fuck, fuck—_ Really, just learning a core set of Yavinese cursewords gave Finn enough of a background to make sense of Poe’s coital ramblings. It’s enough for his purposes, at least.

It’s not long before Poe’s batting at his head, gasping something incoherent. Finn looks up. Poe tries again. “ _In me?_ Please—” His eyes are dark with desire, hooded, looking like—like Finn is a gift from the stars, the very gift Poe never knew he needed until it landed in his hands, glowing in the night. Or maybe that’s what Finn thinks of Poe—

“Yeah.” Finn licks his lips. Poe’s breath stutters. For moment they just stare at each other, entranced.

“Lube.” Poe croaks at last, shaking his head to break the spell. “Might want some lube.” Poe cranes his neck backward and bashes around on the bedside table until he manages to get a hold on the little bottle. He tosses it to Finn—and— _oh._

Right. 

Lube. Still on the table. It’s a good thing Finn’s momentarily occupied with flipping the damn cap open and squirting some onto his fingers, because it gives Poe a moment to blink hard—harder—and try gather himself back together.

It’s such a small thing. Such a _stupid_ thing. But it means so much, so much, so Force-damned _much._ Because Finn believed that he was coming home someday. Wasn’t willing to give him up for dead yet. He—

Finn’s looking at him, one slick finger resting against his rim.

Poe looks back at him.

Finn doesn’t say anything. Not _pull yourself together, Dameron,_ or _I’m doing this so badly it’s making you cry?_ or even _yeah, I know. I know._ Just looks back at Poe, eyes wide. Bites his lip. Nods. Sets one rough warm hand on Poe’s hip. Drops his eyes again. And slips the finger inside.

 _I love you,_ Poe thinks, throat too tight for words. _I love you._ He can’t say it, he needs to say it, so he surges up instead, grabs Finn, and kisses him until he can feel Finn’s finger shaking inside his own ass. Poe drops back down to his elbows, breathless, as Finn adds another finger and follows him down, bracing himself on one hand by Poe’s head and sliding his fingers in and out in heated tandem.

Poe cradles the back of Finn’s head in his hands, sucks Finn’s lip into his mouth, and closes gentle teeth down onto it. “Love you,” he rasps at last, after pulling back to grab a full breath. “So much. So fucking much. Finn—Finn—” Poe’s rocking down onto Finn’s hand, body thrumming with desire.

“Force, Poe,” Finn pants against his mouth. “You— _oh, Force._ Love— _fuck,_ Poe, the way you— _oh.”_

“Words,” Poe pants. “Who needs them.”

“I don’t.” Finn slips a third finger inside now, making Poe shout and drop his head back to the pillows, breathless with need. “Shouting works for me,” he murmurs, closing his eyes to feel the way Poe clenches around his fingers. “Works. Works…well.”

Poe looks up at him, eyes wide and dark and fervent. “Finn,” he says. “ _Finn_.”

“That’s still my name,” Finn croaks. “I think.” He slides his fingers out—Poe shudders at the sudden, complete emptiness. Hears the lube cap pop open, shut. Feels— _oh Force._

Poe rocks his hips up to meet Finn as he slides in, slow and steady, hisses as the burn transcends his body, turning into—into—Finn drags back along Poe’s prostate, sparks a bright light inside his body. Poe groans, overwhelmed. He needs—he needs—he reaches up towards Finn, clasps his arms loosely around Finn’s neck.

Finn blinks down at his lover, hands bracketing Poe’s shoulders on the mattress. Sweat sticks a few dark waves to Poe’s forehead. The rest of his hair curls out in a dark halo around his head, framing the gold of his skin and the flush of his cheeks and the light in his eyes.

“Where did you even come from?” Finn whispers. He rolls in at just the right angle to make his lover’s arms tighten around his neck, then slides back out.

“As I said,” Poe rasps. “My mom and my dad—”

Finn kisses Poe to shut him up again. “Nerfherder,” he mutters against Poe’s lips.

“ _Your_ nerfherder.”

“Damn right.”

Poe’s breath is coming even shorter now, tight breathless gasps that mean he’s about to—Finn wraps one hand loosely around the base of Poe’s cock, then not quite as loosely.

Poe’s eyes pop open. “What.”

Finn pushes into Poe again at just the right angle.

Poe gasps and arches up into him. “What,” he says again. “What. Oh—Force—fuck— _Finn—_ ”

Finn slides out, in again. Poe closes his eyes, burning up from the inside out. The fierce press of Finn’s body against his, the folded-up tangle of their limbs, the hitch and shudder of their breath—Poe’s losing track of where he ends and Finn begins. “Finn. _PLEASE._ ”

“How long do you want me?” Finn asks, voice scraping low in his throat.

“Forever,” Poe pants.

Finn laughs breathlessly against Poe’s neck. “Yes. Please. That, too. I meant, though. This. Me. Here. Now.” It’s getting to be an increasingly academic prospect, though. How much longer can _he_ last, without a hand on his own cock to prevent him from coming?

Poe’s eyes crinkle shut with laughter. He tips his head back against the pillow, baring the gold line of his throat beneath Finn’s mouth, shaking with laughter. And…that does it. No way can he resist that sight—Finn comes with a shout, shuddering against Poe. He releases Poe’s cock and strokes it, hard, until Poe comes apart beneath him, spilling over Finn’s hand and onto their stomachs.

“ _Oh, kriff,”_ Finn groans, settling down onto his lover. He lays his head on Poe’s chest and closes his eyes. He can hear the rapid pounding of Poe’s heartbeat, slowly coming down from its peak. Feel the rush of Poe’s gasping breath, warm on the top of his head. The slick warmth between their bodies, slowly cooling on their skin.

Poe’s still laughing as he strokes one hand down Finn’s back. “Want you as long as we have,” he whispers, voice curling up into a smile. “Always. Forever. I love you.”

Finn nods on Poe’s chest in a way he hopes signifies _yes, me too, I love you, so much, forever, please, Force, make this moment last forever, always, forever._ Words are—words. A little beyond him, still.  

They lie there, together, breathing, coming back to the safe embrace of _them,_ together, fitting into each other like—Poe can already hear Snap laughing at him for finding romantic metaphors in an X-wing but—but that’s what they are, aren’t they? Twin sets of engines, firing in tandem to get off the ground.

Or, you know. Sometimes just to get off.

Poe normally loves this moment—sometimes pulls Finn on top of him, no matter what position they were in, just to feel his lover’s grounding weight press him into reality. He doesn’t want Finn to pull out quite yet, so he tries to remember that feeling now, ease back into the welcome protection of Finn’s body atop his. Love. Pleasure. Connection. _Oh, Force._ Has it really only been a week? It feels like months since he’s felt this way.

Or. Almost this way. Because—he can’t really move, and he can breathe just fine but his chest can’t expand all the way, and—and that’s just not quite ok right now. There’s an unsettling spiral of panic building in the base of his skull—Poe takes Finn’s elbows and start to roll him over.

“Sorry, sorry!” Finn moves off with alacrity, pulling out and stepping off the bed to find a cloth to wipe them off.

“No, you’re fine—” Poe starts, then stops.

Finn comes back with a warm damp cloth and raises an eyebrow at him. “Ok?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Poe says, quickly, too quickly.

“Right,” Finn says. “Dumb question. Sorry. I’ll train myself out of that, really.” He leans over Poe and wipes him off with short gentle strokes. Poe takes the cloth from him to swipe at the rest that ended up on Finn’s stomach, then tosses it with the ease of long practice into the hamper across the room. He scoots over towards the wall to make room for Finn to clamber into his habitual place on the edge.

 _And…yup,_ Poe thinks to himself. _There’s a good reason we sleep like this. Nightmares tonight, for sure._ “I just—” he says, as Finn settles down beside him. “No,” he says, very quiet. “I’m not really ok.”

Finn nods. The bunk’s low lighting outlines his cheeks with a streak of gold. “That’s ok, Poe,” he whispers, curling in closer. “Tell me what you need.”

 _I just need the world to stop spinning. I need to be safe. I need to be free._ Poe shakes his head. “What do _you_ need?” he whispers instead.

Finn half-smiles. “Same as always.” _You: alive, safe, free, ok, with me. Our friends: close by, alive and safe. The First Order: on its way down._

_Huh._

“I think I have what I need, actually,” Finn says. Rolls over onto his back, looks up at the ceiling, and thinks this over. “Yeah. I do. I mean, at least most of it. You’re still—you know.”

He looks back at Poe, hesitant. “Coming back. And, well. First Order’s not quite dead yet. Stormtroopers aren’t all free. But—” Finn reaches out and strokes a hand down Poe’s cheek, and that’s about as close as it gets to him saying, _YOU WERE FUCKING GONE, POE. AND YOU WERE NEVER COMING BACK._

“Time someone took care of you, too,” Poe murmurs. Finn snorts. “‘S true, though.” Poe curls closer. Finn takes the hint, rolls onto his side, and presses back against Poe. Poe wraps an arm over his waist, folds his knees behind Finn’s, and tucks his head into the back of Finn’s neck. Finn sighs with his entire body, settling into Poe’s secure embrace. “Yeah?” Poe asks, very soft.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Finn sighs.

“We’ll talk tomorrow? I— _two thousand_ , really?”

Finn smirks. “And seventy-four, of course.”

“Force, Finn. _Force._ I want to hear how you did it.”

 _Step one,_ Finn thinks: _grief. Step two: guilt. Step three: fury. Repeat._ “Ok,” is all he says. The word stretches into an unexpected yawn. “You’ll have to ask Nerro’s team, too. I don’t even know how they do it. Geniuses, all of them.”

“You can take some credit too, you know.”

“I can,” Finn nods. “And I will. And so should they.”

Poe presses a kiss to the back of Finn’s neck. Finn hums in pleasure, closes his eyes. “Sleep,” Poe whispers. “My love. Sleep.”

Finn lifts Poe’s hand and kisses it.

 

 

 

“Poe. Poe. _POE!”_ There’s a frantic edge to Finn’s shouts by the time Poe jolts awake, drenched in sweat, fists clenched and already swinging in defense. Finn’s safely across the room, as usual, waiting for his lover to come back to himself.

Poe gasps and looks around the room—disoriented, breathless, terrified. “Poe.” Finn approaches him cautiously, waiting to be sure he’s really awake. Poe looks at Finn, makes a small noise in his throat. “You’re ok,” Finn murmurs. “You’re home. Safe. With me.”

The silver light of the moon traces teartracks down Poe’s cheeks. He drags in one slow, unsteady breath, then another. Wraps his hands around his chest, looks around the room, touches his body like he’s not quite sure what he’s going to find. Shifts in place, looks at his wrists. Touches first one, then the other. Moves them apart, as wide as he can. Brings them back to his body, huddles into himself in the dark shadows of the bed.

Finn takes another half-step towards him.

Poe looks up. Opens his mouth. Closes it. “What did I say?” he croaks.

“It’s ok, Poe. You’re ok.”

Poe swallows. “I’m sorry.”

Finn shakes his head. “It’s ok.” He closes the gap, reaches a tentative hand towards his lover.

Poe reaches up to him, still shaking. Finn’s a tall dark form above him, silhouetted in the glinting moonlight. Poe flinches and scrambles backward on the bed until he collides with the wall. Finn crouches by the bed and waits.

Poe fists his hands in the crumpled sheets beneath him and takes a long, slow, breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

“For _what?”_

“For scaring you.”

“Seems like you got scared a hell of a lot worse,” Finn says, very gentle.

“Still.” Poe reaches out towards Finn again, unable to stop his hands from shaking.

Finn takes his hand and lets Poe draw him up onto the bed. He curls around Poe’s still-trembling body, strokes his lover’s arm. “You’re safe,” he murmurs, low and steady. “You’re ok. It didn’t happen.”

Poe stares up at the ceiling, traces the old cracks in the duracrete. _My subconscious thinks it happened._ He nods anyway, trying to believe it.

Finn kisses the curve of Poe’s bicep, leans over him, braces one arm by the wall. He presses another kiss to the apex of Poe’s forehead, another to his temple. Slides down, touches his lips to Poe’s opposite shoulder in a tight cluster of three. Traces a short line of kisses from lowest rib to navel, ends with a short spike toward Poe’s hip.

Poe’s breath catches in his throat. “I didn’t realize—” His voice skips as Finn sucks in a soft mark on the inside of his elbow to pinpoint the farthest star of the constellation. “You had it memorized.”

“Pointed it out to me often enough by now.” There’s a smile in Finn’s voice as he answers.

“Still.” Poe cups his lover’s head in his hands and kisses him, tasting the safe harbor of Finn’s mouth, the familiar tang of sweat on his upper lip.

When they break apart at last, Finn hangs his head above Poe’s chest for a moment, panting. Lowers his head again, presses a soft kiss above Poe’s heart. “There,” he murmurs. “Home.”

“Yours, too.”

“Yeah.” Finn grins, drops back by Poe’s side. “One of these days.”

“Thank you.” Poe props himself up on one elbow, still feeling the sun of the Yavin system burning over his heart.

“Thought it might be nice to take it with you.”

“And if we have to move bases, one day?”

Finn shrugs. “Then we’ll make up a new constellation around it, as long as the system’s still visible. And I’ll memorize it, and kiss it back onto your skin.”

Poe blinks suddenly stinging eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers again. “Finn—”

Finn gathers Poe into his arms. “You’re safe here, with me,” he murmurs. “Always, Poe. You know that, right? I will take care of you. Any way I can. Every way.”

 _“Thank you,”_ Poe whispers. He closes his eyes and tries to let himself be comforted. Sinks slowly back into sleep, lulled by the warmth of his husband’s protective embrace.

Beneath his closed lids, the dark stretches endlessly beyond his body, abandoning him in the endless vacuum of space. He’s alone again, no hope of rescue. Wrists bound to a durasteel chair. Kylo stretches out a hand toward his head, sucking out everything that makes him _Poe._

Poe jerks awake. Finn’s asleep, breath even, face smooth and unburdened. Poe stares at him for a long time.

In the silence of the night, Poe ducks his head to Finn’s shoulder and cries.

 


	19. to hold you and never let you go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******************************************
> 
>  
> 
> healing  
> begins  
> the moment  
> you  
> want it to.  
> —time
> 
> (from _Salt,_ by Nayyirah Waheed)  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> *******************************************  
>    
> ***TW: discussions of past potential rape, very brief mention of past slut-shaming.

“Morning.” Finn’s voice scratches in his throat as he turns over and blinks at Poe.

Poe grins back, sleepy and content. “Morning to you too.”

“What are you smiling about?” Finn leans forward until his forehead touches Poe’s. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

“Smiling because you’re here. And I’m here. And we’re both alive. And relatively unhurt. And _free_.” Poe’s voice shakes only a little. “ _Fuck_ , Finn. You don’t know what it means to be free until you’re—you’re not. But I am now. And so are you. So we’re here. Safe. Together.”

He clinks his ring against Finn’s with a sudden wild grin. “Which means that I get to do this.” Poe ducks his head to Finn’s shoulder and sucks in a quick bite. “And this.” Slides down further, laps at a nipple, sucks on it, gently presses his teeth to it. He grins even wider as Finn shudders beneath him. “Got a better idea of where I can put my mouth, though.”

“You do, huh?” Finn shifts up onto his elbows to get a better view of Poe’s tangled curls sliding their way down his torso, accompanied by a series of kisses. Around his hips, down his thighs, curving inwards. Poe stays there for a moment, kissing Finn’s inner thighs, slowing his breathing, rubbing small circles into Finn’s hips. He’s—he’s—

Poe is a habitual tease, so Finn’s not surprised when he takes his time before actually going down. But he’s still—and his hands are slowly tensing on Finn’s hips— ”Hey. Hey!” Finn sits up and reaches toward Poe, carefully keeping his palms up. “What’s going on?”

“It’s—fine,” Poe says, keeping his head down. “It’s fine. I’ll just—”       

“Poe, you—you don’t have to talk about it, but _please_ just—be honest with me? If something’s going on.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Poe bites.

Finn looks at him askance for a moment.

Poe stares at the side of Finn’s thigh. His hands are starting to tremble on Finn’s hips.

“ _Poe._ ” Finn scoots forward towards him. “ _What_ is going on?”

“It’s _fine!”_ Poe snaps. He punches the mattress, slides down off the bed, and paces across the room.

“Poe—” Finn scrambles out of the bed and takes a step towards him, unsure what to do.

“It’s fucking _fine!_ ” Poe roars at him. “I’m not—I— _fuck._ ” He runs his hands through his hair, making it stand up even crazier than before, then turns away and leans his head against the door. “ _Fuck,_ ” he whispers.

“Poe. What can I do?” Finn’s hands clench and unclench by his sides.

“I can’t—I don’t—I—” Poe’s shoulders slump, defeated. _Get it out. Get it out get it out just say it, come on—_ ”I told him I give good head,” he spits. “Good enough to make Stormtroopers defect.” Poe whirls, hands raised—”Not _you!_ I didn’t mean _you_ —I was just saying it—”

“I _know_ , Poe.”

“I just—I thought—I thought if he had a use for me, he might not probe for the Resistance’s information. He might keep me alive longer, and maybe—maybe someone could come rescue me.” His voice cracks. They ignore it.

”It’s _ok_ , Poe. You don’t have to apologize for anything you did in there.”

“I _didn’t—”_

“Ok! Ok. Then you didn’t. And you’re out of there now. And you don’t have to do _anything_ now. With me. You—”

“I want to.” Poe wraps his arms around himself and leans back against the door, eyes weary. “I _want_ to. I want to wake up in the morning and have incredible morning sex with the man I love and not fucking _freak out all over the place_ because I am _TIRED_ of freaking out, I am _TIRED_ of not being ok, you’re standing there worried about me and not knowing what to do and you know what? _There is no fucking thing you can do!_ I’m cracking, again. A little bit more. Every time a little bit more and then what? I’m not—I can’t—” He covers his face with his hands, grabs his hair and _pulls_. “It’s my own banthafucking fault. He didn’t make me offer. I did this to myself. And now all I feel is dirty, _dirty,_ but I did this to my own fucking self, I—I—” His voice chokes off, desperate.  

Finn’s heart is pounding in his ears. His chest is constricting around his lungs in awful, painful, desperate sympathy. His nails are digging into his palms hard enough to hurt. He is in so way, _way_ over his head. _Please, Force. Help me—help me—_ “Do you want to go for a run?” he asks suddenly.

“A _what?”_ Poe looks up at him, incredulous.

“A run. In the woods. Get out of here, and just—run.”

After a moment, Poe nods, slow and desperate. “Yeah. Yeah. That sounds—yeah. Ok.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Ok.”

They pull on shorts and shoes with frantic speed. Finn throws Poe a ration bar and a waterpak to clip to his belt and clips one of each to his own. In silence, they stride down the hall towards the blast doors leading out to the forest. Poe halts a few steps from the entrance. “Race you.”

“Need to settle the score from last time, huh?”

“I hate draws. Get ready to be pounded into the dust.”

“You’re on.” _Except that I’ve spent two weeks trying to run away from my feelings and you spent those weeks strapped to a torture chair and then a medical cot._

“Then three—two—go!” Poe takes off before he’s even finished counting, squeezing through the blast doors as they open.

“Hey!”

“Need all the advantage I can get!” Poe shouts over his shoulder—apparently well aware of the recent disparities.

Fortunately, desperation and adrenaline can more than make up the difference. Poe outpaces Finn past the edge of the landing bay, into the sudden shade of the close-crowding trees, and down the winding forest trail. Finn’s breath echoes close behind him, spurring him on. Poe swerves up a steep side-trail, surprising Finn, who curses and stumbles as he switches direction to follow.

“Just for that—” Finn puts on a burst of speed and crashes around a small copse of trees to pass him.

“I’ll get you,” Poe pants, starting to flag but pushing himself through it. His breath comes fast in his chest, but not from panic—just from the sheer joy of speed, nothing even close to an X-wing but _wow,_ feet dirt roots rocks hands arms chest head trees sky upwards onwards. Poe laughs, loud and free and clear. He passes Finn just before the trail widens out into a small clearing, then flops on the ground, panting. “Race over. I win.”

Finn skids to a halt just beyond him, chest heaving. “You can’t just decide when it’s over!”

“Just did. But if you want to run on, be my guest.” Poe rolls onto his back and squints up at Finn through the dappled light. Finn blinks down at him, momentarily entranced by the play of sunlight and shadow across the angles of Poe’s face.

“Running? Great idea. I feel—” Poe scrambles to his feet, spreads his arms, and turns in a slow circle. “Free. Fre _er_ , at least. Like I can think, and breathe. I—” He looks back at Finn, very serious. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t ever apologize for that, Poe—”

“I am going to apologize. I—it’s something I brought on myself, saying—what I did. To him. I just—” His shoulders pull in for a moment, huddling into himself. “I didn’t know what to do. So I went with the first plan I could think of. I—I didn’t think it would hurt like this. I didn’t think I was ever getting out of there, short of a miracle—” He shakes his head. “Well. Rey is a miracle. Unto herself.”  

Finn laughs, quiet. “Kriff, yeah.”

“But now I just feel _dirty_ and I can’t shake the feeling. I don’t know what to do. Running helped, yeah, but—but it’s still there.”

Finn looks at him for a long moment, silent. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,” he says at last. “You said that people used to call you Ho Dameron.”

Poe folds his arms across his chest, eyes cold. “Yeah.”

“Which you objected to. Because it’s cruel, and it’s not true.”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t this the same? You said something that hurt you, but it’s not true. When other people said it, you told them to stop it and you found a way to shake the words off so they didn’t hurt you anymore. Could you do the same here?”

“It’s not the same. I did this to myself.”

 _“NO!”_ Finn growls. “You didn’t. _Poe_.” He steps forward and grabs Poe by the shoulders. “Using what tools you had, while—while—locked up with a—banthafucking sadistic—whatever the fuck he is? _That was not your fault._ It will never be your fault. You did what you had to do to survive.”

A deep furrow cuts up between Poe’s brows. “Didn’t even do any good.”

Finn shrugs. “No way you could have known that. You did what you thought you had to. None of it was your _choice._ Protecting me, and my squadron: that was a choice. Surviving was your choice. What you had to do to survive, in the fucked-up rules of the fucked-up game you were thrown into? That was not a free choice. You didn’t have any control over what happened to you or what your options were. Just the choice between a bad option and a worse one.”

Poe stares at him, silent.

“Come sit?” Finn asks, voice soft. He motions to the base of a tree. Poe looks at him a moment longer, lines pulling tight around his mouth. Finally he shrugs and sits. They take off their shoes and let their bare feet splay out into the morning sunshine, dappled with green. Poe takes a swig of his waterpak. Finn unwraps his ration bar and crunches down on a bite. Poe wipes sweat off his forehead. Finn tips his head back against the tree and looks up through the dense canopy.

When he lowers his head again, Poe’s looking at him.

Finn looks back.

Poe bites his lip. “Finn,” he murmurs. “Can we try that again?”

Finn’s face ripples warily. “You don’t have to, Poe. I understand.”

“I want to. If you do.”

“I don’t want you to trigger yourself again. I know you like to push yourself, and sometimes that’s fine, but _not about this_ , ok? It’s just not worth it.”

“It’s not about pushing myself. I love you. I want to make you feel good. And this is one way I know how to do that.”  

“One way, fine, but there are plenty of other ways that don’t involve you—”

“This is ridiculous! Do we really need to argue about whether I give you a blow job?” Poe shoves to his feet and paces across the clearing.

Finn scrambles up to face him. “ _Yes_ ,” he says quietly. “Because it’s not about the blow job. It’s about what happened to you, and how you’re going to find a way to live with it.”

“I _am_ living with it,” Poe growls. “I’m _fine_.” He presses on quickly, knowing that neither of them believe the words. Rightfully so. “Look. I want to do this. Do you? That’s the only question that needs answering.”

“Of course I want it,” Finn answers, very quiet. “But there’s only room in this for two people, ok?”

Poe stares at him for a moment, face blank, before Finn’s meaning hits him. His face goes white with shock. “Do you think I would imagine you’re— _him_ —” He can barely breathe with the horror of it.

“No!” Finn grabs Poe’s arms, holds him steady. “ _No._ "

Poe closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, nauseated.

“No,” Finn whispers again, watching Poe’s eyes track beneath closed lids. “I’m sorry. No, no, no. That’s not what I meant.”

Poe nods, nods again, swallows. Opens his eyes. “Ok. Ok. Good. I _wouldn’t_. _Kriff_ , Finn. _No_.”

“I _know_ that, Poe. I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I never meant it like that. What I mean is that it’s fine for you to work through things on your own. But I don’t want it to come between us. Your right to push yourself ends where I begin.”

“I’m not doing this to _use_ you!” Poe’s face twists up in anger. “ _Fuck_ , Finn. Do you really—I wouldn’t—” He loses his words and punches a tree instead.

“That’s not what I meant, either! _Listen_ to me, Poe.”

“ _You_ listen to me.” Poe turns back to Finn with a furious glare. “I wouldn’t _do_ that. I’d never—that’s not what this is about.” He doesn’t really know how to explain it. Only that it’s something that’s been taken from him, _by_ him, and that he needs it back. Needs _himself_ back. “ _Kriff_ , Finn. No.”

“ _Ok_ ,” Finn raises his hands, placating. “But—do you see—that this is what I mean?”

Poe points a finger at Finn’s face. “If you are going to say I’m not ok—”

“You’re _not_ , Poe. You’re very clearly, patently, obviously _not_. That’s why—”

“Fuck you!” Poe whirls back to the tree and punches it again, again, again, until his knuckles are bleeding and Finn is hugging his elbows to his sides, shoulders hunched in on himself, biting down hard on his lip, desperately trying not to cry or intervene.

At last Poe sags against the trunk, boneless. His shoulders shake. Tears glitter down his cheeks. “I hate this,” he growls at last, glaring at the forest floor between them. “ _I hate this.”_

Finn steps forward. Poe steps backward. “I don’t want to be shouting at you,” Poe growls. “I don’t—” He presses his lips together, takes an unsteady breath. “I don’t—” He claws at his hair. “I’m cracking,” he whispers. “I don’t know what to do. I’m cracking. And I’m not going to take it out on you. I’m not. I’m not. I’m just—I don’t—I—” He opens his mouth, closes it again. Shakes his head, utterly lost.

Finn steps forward again—hesitant, then sure of himself. He wraps his arms around Poe, folds him in against his chest, cups his hand on the back of Poe’s neck, and draws his head down to his shoulder. Poe leans against him, shuddering, desperately grateful for the contact.

“I didn’t want to die,” he whispers at last. His voice cracks, despite himself. “I knew I’d saved you. I knew I’d hurt you. I knew I was going to die and there was nothing left I could do. I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do. I offered—what I thought I had. I—I would have done it.” His breath hitches in his chest. “And been grateful. For the chance to stay alive.”

Finn’s gut clenches, tight and hot, at the thought of Poe forced to his knees. “I’m _sorry.”_ His voice shakes. What else can he even say? “I’m _sorry_ ,” he repeats. “Poe. I’m so sorry that you had to—that it—that you had to go through that. There’s _nothing_ to be ashamed of. You know that, right? You’re a _survivor_. You found a way to survive. And to protect the ones you love. Sometimes that’s—that’s not—pretty.”

Finn feels this deep in his gut every single fucking time he pulls the trigger on the people he grew up with. Necessary, to protect the ones he loves. To prevent any more children from being stolen. To free the rest of the troopers someday. Necessary, but sickening, deep in his heart.

“Poe.” Finn’s throat closes. “ _I’m sorry,”_ he whispers again. _I’m sorry,_ he thinks. _You fucking heroic noble reckless idiotic impossible incredible human being. I don’t know what to do. I’m so sorry. I love you more than anything else in this galaxy. But I don’t know how to help you in this._

Oh.

Actually, he sort of does know what to do. Ask. Just ask.

“How can I help?” Finn asks, very soft.

Poe shakes his head. “No. You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought you into this. I’m sorry, Finn. I’m sorry I—” His breath huffs out, frustrated beyond words. “I’m sorry I exploded on you like this. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You can explode any time you need to, Poe.” Finn leans back and cups Poe’s face in his hands, very serious. “ _Any_ time _._ Ok? If it helps. I mean—talk to someone, too.”

Poe nods, lips quirking up. “Already on the schedule for today.”

“Great.” Finn smiles at him. “But if you need to explode. Or run. Or punch trees. Or _anything_. It’s ok. Whatever you need to do. And please, _tell me._ Whatever’s going on. If there’s anything I can do to help. I’m sorry I didn’t—I don’t think I—said what I should have. I don’t—really know what to say. Other than I love you. And I believe you’ll recover from this. And—I love you.”

Poe’s shoulders slump. “I love you too,” he says, very soft. “And—thank you. I—I don’t understand you. You know that? I shout at you and you hug me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Finn gives him a _look_. “You jumped into death to save my fucking life, for starters. That was, um. Pretty nice of you.”

Poe snorts. “You’ve always been this way, though.” One hand rises to caress Finn’s cheek, very gentle.

Finn shrugs. “This is who I am,” he says, voice soft. “I love you. I want to care for you. In whatever way you need it. I—” He stops, then starts again, very quiet. “I don’t mind when you shout. Or hit trees. I know you’re not shouting at me. And I know what you want to be hitting. Ok?”

Poe sighs, long and shaky. “Thank you,” he murmurs. _“Thank_ you.” He closes his eyes and leans his head down to Finn’s shoulder. “Can we—just—cuddle? For a bit?” he asks at last. “We don’t have to go back to the base to do anything this morning, right?”

Finn shakes his head. “We’re off duty for at least a day, according to Organa. And however much more time we need.”

Poe nods into Finn’s shoulder. “That’s good, then.”

“Cuddling, huh?”

“‘S that ok?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Finn laughs. “That sounds amazing.” Finn eases down to a stretch of sunshine on the forest floor and tugs Poe down with him. They curl up into each other, shifting to find a soft spot between the tiny hillocks and exposed roots of the clearing. Tall ferns stretch overhead, weaving dappled shadows across their skin.

Poe tucks his head into Finn’s shoulder and pulls him in close with an arm around his waist. Finn makes the sound Poe has always thought of as his _purr_ , halfway between a hum and a sigh—the second most beautiful sound his husband makes. The first being, of course, a blissed-out, guttural, heartfelt _oh kriff._

Finn’s legs tangle in Poe’s. His fingers rise to stroke his husband’s hair, tangling among the dark curls. _I love you,_ he thinks, and says it with a soft thumb-stroke against Poe’s temple.

 _I love you_ , Poe thinks, and says it with a slow brush of his lips against Finn’s neck. “I’m so sorry I yelled at you,” he says at last, very soft. Kriff, he always forgets. Gets trapped in his own shit and forgets that Finn, too, got hurt in this mess. Hurt very badly. “What do _you_ need?”

Finn nuzzles deeper into Poe’s neck. “I’m ok,” he murmurs.

“Banthashit,” Poe whispers into his ear.

Finn snorts. “Yeah. Well.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I just want you to be ok,” he whispers at last. “To—to hold you and never let you go.” His arms instinctively tighten around Poe. “To not have to fight anymore. To crush the fucking First Order into fucking spacedust. To be safe.” _To not have to mourn you ever FUCKING again, Poe, I just—can’t. I can’t do it._

Poe strokes rhythmic lines up and down Finn’s back, tracing lines of muscles and sutures and synthebrae and scars. “I’m here now,” he murmurs. “You can hold me all you like. Any time. All the time. You know that, right? And you can, you know. Talk about it. If you ever want to.”

Finn sighs and nuzzles in closer. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I think—” His hand settles around Poe’s waist, rests against sun-warmed skin. “I think—we’re going to be ok.”

“ _Yes.”_ Poe’s voice rumbles low in his throat. “Yes. We are. Always.” He’s quiet for a moment. A brabary bird chirps far above them, followed by the short chitter of a leaf-tail. The wind rustles the ferns by their heads, shifting the patterns of light and dark on their skin.

Poe remembers, then, what Finn always needs. What sustained him through 23 years of slavery. Through every threat to their lives. What brings him back into himself, makes him whole again. What Poe, too, has begun to do to sustain himself. Stepping away from reality and settling into a safer place in his mind saved his life and his sanity, both on the _Obsession_ and on the _Vengeance._ Two years ago, he might have said it’s a child’s game, but—it’s _not_. It’s truer than anything else he has.

“In our house on Yavin IV,” Poe murmurs. He can feel the way Finn’s body relaxes at the words. “We’re going to have a hammock in the courtyard. Where we can rock, after dinner, and look up at the stars.”

“Mmm,” Finn sighs, breath warm against Poe’s skin. “Made out of that ikat fabric. That you hung on our wall.”

“Sunset-colored? Or ocean-colored?”

“Sunset,” Finn decides, without a moment of hesitation. There’s a bubbling undercurrent of laughter in his voice as he adds, “It’ll look good with your skin.”

“Mmm?” Poe slants his eyes at him. “Well, then. I see how it is. Yours, too. Maybe I should amend that to, ‘we’re going to rock, after dinner, and look up at the stars, and do our best to fuck each other on a constantly rocking surface.’”

“ _Now_ you’re talking.” Finn grins at him. “‘Constantly rocking,’ huh? Hmm. I didn’t think of that. Well. We’ll figure it out.”

Poe snorts. “Yes. Well. You’re a quick learner. And we’ll have plenty of motivation, after all.” He breathes deeply, enjoying the heady smell of earth and leaves and rot and rain. “Maybe we can have a garden, too,” he adds. “In the courtyard. With those kibo flowers you loved, the ones I showed you in that market on Dandoran. The ones with a smell so nice you could get drunk on it.”

“You going to get our kids drunk on flower-fumes, Poe?” Finn murmurs, snuggling in closer.

“Mmm-hmm.” Poe brings his hand up to the back of Finn’s head and strokes his hair, enjoying its familiar texture. “Well. Maybe we’ll move the kibos to the back garden when we bring our kids home. Set up a little gazebo back there, with covered sides, where we can…sleep…sometimes, while the neighbors look after our kids.”

“We’re going to need really good neighbors, then.” Finn closes his eyes beneath Poe’s soft touch. “Because I’m going to want to…sleep…out there an awful lot.” He can feel the vibrations of Poe’s laughter through his hand on his waist.

“Anytime you want, buddy.”

“Good.” Finn’s mouth stretches open and shut in a slow yawn.

Poe closes his eyes as well, tipping his head back beneath the dappled sunshine. He’s just—so— _comfortable_ , here, with Finn, among the ferns, sprawled out on the warm ground. Shadows and highlights play out on his eyelids as…he…

 

 

 

He wakes up to Finn maneuvering his arm out from underneath him. “Sorry,” Finn whispers, seeing Poe blink back to awareness. “Arm went numb.”

“Mmm?” Poe rubs his eyes and squints into the sunshine. “Oh. Sorry.” He turns back to Finn. “Think I might have dreamed about a gazebo. It was bright orange. Vines trailing up the sides. Very pretty. Think my mother would have approved. BB-8 would, too.”

“Draw it later, then,” Finn murmurs. “We’ll build it. Or.” He flips onto his back and covers his eyes with his arm to shield them from the bright morning light. “Sweet-talk Rey into building it for us. That way it might actually stay up.”

“Probably a good idea.” Poe stretches in place, props himself up on his elbows, and looks down at Finn with a slight leer. “It might, uh.”

“Take a pounding,” Finn supplies.

Poe smirks and nudges him with a toe. “If you’re lucky.”

“If _you’re_ lucky.”

“Hah. Saying you don’t want to—”

“Oh, trust me,” Finn groans. “I do.”

“Well, then. Glad that’s settled.” Poe scrubs a hand through his hair, trying to shake out any twigs that may have found their way in while he was sleeping. Probably misses a few. Well. If they’re that dedicated to taking up root in his hair, they can stay. For the next hour or two, at least. “But, um. While we’re, uh. On the subject.”

“When are we ever not?” Finn yawns and sits up.

“Fair point. But.” Poe slides to his feet, paces across the clearing, and turns back to Finn, highlighted with a cascading ripple of sun and shadow. “Look,” he says, very soft. “I’m really sorry I pushed you. I promise I won’t do it again. I just—this is what I was trying to say earlier. It’s—do you remember when I told you what Dr. Eila said? About scars?”

“Yeah.” Finn scrambles to his feet to face him.

“So.” Poe swallows. “It’s a scar. The memory. It’s—it’s not going anywhere. It might fade in time, I might find a way to feel better about it, but—if we ever try this again, it will still be there. So a time when it’s absolutely not in the way anymore, when it’s really just the two of us with no thoughts of it at all, might—just—never happen. You know?”

Finn nods, inscrutable.

“But _I’m here too_.” Poe takes a deep breath and continues. “So that’s why I wanted to try it. To take it back. It’s—important to me. Sex has always been. I don’t intend to lose it to this shit. I don’t want to lose that part of myself. This part of _us._ I don’t—I don’t know if he did. I don’t _want_ to know. I just wanted to take this back. I—look.”

Poe pulls at his hair. “It will come up. I will get triggered. But when I do, _I can deal with that_. Ok? There’s—there’s no way to do this that won’t involve you,” he sighs. “And I hate that, and it’s awful, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed for it. I don’t know what to do, but—I’ll figure something out. Something that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” He buries his face in his hands.

There’s a long moment of silence, then: “Ok,” Finn says. “Let’s try it.”

Poe’s fingers part around his eyes. “What?”

“Ok.” Finn nods at him. “I get it. I—I’m ok with trying it.” He thinks for another moment, then nods again, stronger. “It might be a stupid idea. But I see what you mean. And—I trust you. That you think you can do this. And that you’re not doing this to use me, or to hurt yourself further. So. If you think you’ll be ok. Then I’m in.”

“You—Finn—you really don’t have to. Really. Please. I’m sorry I kept pushing you. I—”

“It’s _ok_ , Poe. I get it. If you think you’re ready for it, I’m going to trust that. I’m willing to try it, if you still want to.”

Poe swallows. “You’re—sure.”    

“Yes.” Finn steps forward and presses a soft kiss to Poe’s cheek. “I am. If you are.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Poe murmurs.

”Are you seriously thanking me for letting you—”

“Yes. I am. Not for—” He sighs. “I’m thanking you for trusting me.” His eyes catch Finn’s, and hold. “It means a lot to me,” he says, very soft. “I don’t think I earned it. But I’m grateful for it, all the same.”

“Well.” Finn nudges Poe’s foot with his own. “Good. Don’t make me regret this, ok?”

Poe’s mouth quirks. “I’ll try not to.” He kisses Finn, slow and easy. “ _Thank you_ ,” he whispers again. “ _So much_.” He traces a slow line over Finn’s cheek, down the strong line of his jaw, and down his neck.

Finn tips his head back slightly as Poe’s finger runs over the divot at the base of his neck. Poe leans in to press the softest, lightest kiss to the pressure point that makes Finn shudder— _yes_. He sucks in a small bite right there, just for emphasis. Finn shivers again. His hands come up to cup Poe’s elbows as he sways slightly on his feet.

Poe lifts his head and looks at Finn beneath his lashes. Finn blinks, caught in the heat of his smouldering gaze.

Poe bites his lip.

Finn’s breath stutters.

Poe drops to his knees before him.

Finn’s breath stops entirely.

Poe looks up at him again, eyes dark and hooded with desire. Finding his breath once more, Finn reaches down to tangle in his hair. Poe’s eyes flutter shut, then flash open again, bright and dangerous. He runs the palm of his hand over the rapidly growing bulge in Finn’s shorts with a wicked grin. “You didn’t really want to go around all day with a problem like this, did you?”

“You are such a _tease_ ,” Finn breathes, breath huffing out in a quiet laugh. His heart pounds in his chest. He’s sure he made the right decision to try it, but—he’s not quite sure how it will end. _Force, please. Let him be ok._

Poe smirks. “Mmm-hmm,” he agrees easily, leaning forward to just _breathe_ over Finn’s crotch, breath warming him straight through the thin, stretchy fabric. His fingers slip up over the waistband of his shorts, flick it back and forth for a moment—and then carefully slide both shorts and boxers over Finn’s erection and down to his ankles. Finn steps out of them easily, slips a toe underneath, and flicks them out to the side.

Poe cups his hands around Finn’s ass and leans in to press a line of kisses down one side of his cock and up the other. The skin is silky beneath his lips, salty with sweat, muskier around Finn’s balls. Finn shivers under his touch and sways closer, knees buckling.

Bubbling with soft laughter, Poe lowers his mouth onto Finn’s cock. The familiarity of the shape—taste—feel beneath his lips goes a long way towards soothing his fear that he’d think about—what happened.

But he does, of course. The thought rises up from the muck in his hindbrain, waves at him, turns around, drops its shorts, and moons him. Chair. Bound wrists. Hand reaching for his head. Space, looming beyond. Desperate bid to stay alive.

 _NO_ , Poe thinks. _I AM HERE._ He flips a finger back at the taunting image and refocuses in on reality. _Mouth cock hands ass knees ground Poe Finn._ Husband. Friend. Comrade. Confidant. Lover. Beloved.

Finn’s fingers twine through his hair. Finn’s breath catches above his head. Finn’s body is warm and full beneath his fingers, scars and muscles and softness and heat. Finn’s skin is the color of _love_ , visible even through his closed eyelids. His own body is strong in his skin, warm and welcoming and hard.

The memory is there, tugging at his hair, yanking at his elbows. But _he is here too,_ fuck it. He is Commander Poe Dameron of the Resistance and he is in love and he is loved and he is here. This is what he chooses to do. This is how he chooses to love. This is who he is.

And when Poe swears that, when he _believes_ that, everything—slowly—starts to settle into place around him again. He runs his tongue beneath Finn’s dick from root to tip, just to hear the satisfying _gasp_ above him. Flicks his tongue over the slit, grins to himself as Finn’s cock twitches again, dripping bitter precum into his mouth. He shifts against the ground and presses the heel of his hand into his growing erection before returning it to Finn’s hips.

Finn can see the change in Poe as he moves through the trigger. Can see when the tight furrow in his brow smoothes out. Can feel when his hands and mouth change from distracted and arrhythmic to assured and powerful. Can feel in his own body the loosening, the relief, the release of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Poe will be ok. They will be ok. Everything will be ok. Finn shudders under Poe’s tongue and finally gives in to a heady rush of pleasure. His cock, wavering with his fear for Poe, finally jolts to full attention . Finn’s hands tighten in Poe’s hair to steady himself. Poe hums at the touch. With a deep gulp, he slides down to the root of Finn’s cock and just holds there.

And when Poe—does—that—it’s all Finn can do to keep his hips still. They twitch, all the same, needing to buck forward, to fuck into that gorgeously hot wet mouth until he comes. But one _does. not. choke. Poe._ At any time, under any circumstances. He only had to make that mistake once, by accident. Never again. Panic attacks and sex do not mix. Now Finn’s hands cover Poe’s over his hips and his eyes close in blissful tension as his body trembles with the effort of holding still.

Poe eases off at last, pulls in a deep breath, mouths wetly over the head, and dips below to suck first one ball, then the other into his mouth. He slides back onto Finn’s cock with the barest hint of teeth and _oh, kriff._ Finn’s breath comes short, fast, frenzied as Poe sinks down to the root once more—holds there—slides back up and bobs down again, back and forth and back and forth and _oh kriff_ and Poe’s hands slide back to his ass and take a tight hold and Finn loses it altogether because _oh, kriff, that mouth._

Poe eases back to hold just the head in his mouth as Finn comes. He works one steady hand over the rest of Finn’s cock, milking the last drops, swallowing his cum. He pulls off with a slight _pop_ and licks a stray drop off his lips—Finn’s spent cock jerks again at the sight. Finn tips his head back into the sun, giddy with relief. “ _Poe_ ,” he croaks. That’s all he can say. “Oh, kriff, _Poe.”_

Poe laughs, surges to his feet, presses Finn back against a tree, and kisses him fiercely. Finn kisses him back for all he’s worth, filled with a frenzied joy that’s half post-orgasmic bliss and half _holy fuck you did it, Poe, you did it, you’re going to be ok we’re going to ok you_ _did_ _it, oh thank fuck you’re ok_. Finn can taste himself on Poe’s tongue, which is sexy as hell. Poe’s breath shudders into him, tongue pressing into his mouth, elbows pressed against the tree on either side of Finn’s head to support himself. Finn’s hands come down to cradle Poe’s ass and Poe grinds against him, achingly hard, growling in victory.

Finn’s smiling almost too hard to keep kissing. So is Poe. Their mouths slip off each other, on again, press short hot kisses to jawlines and cheekbones and necks and temples. Chest to chest and hips to hips and thighs to thighs and holy fuck they’re alive, they're whole, they’re here, they’re together. Holy fuck holy fuck holy _fuck._ Finn’s never felt so—felt so—words slip away from him under the force of Poe’s kisses. Holy _fuck_.

“Ok?” Poe rasps at last, between kisses. He cups Finn’s face in his hands and stares into his eyes, trying to make sense of things. “You’re ok? Was that ok?”

“Ok? I—” Finn closes his eyes against Poe’s heated gaze, unable to think straight. “Very,” he pants at last. “Poe—you—” Words. Words? Why words?

Poe kisses the words right out of his mouth. “ _Thank_ you.” Poe’s voice is rough and wrecked and absurdly sexy. “For—trying. Trusting. For—” He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah,” Finn manages. “ _You’re_ ok?”

“ _Yes.”_ Poe’s breath comes short and fast. “I am _._ I _am._ I _fucking_ am. Or—I will be. I mean—I’m not ok, yet. Not completely.” He swallows. “There’s still—still a long way to go. You know?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, very soft.

Poe leans his forehead against Finn’s for a moment and sighs. “I think I kind of hoped that we could just fuck and everything would be ok again, you know?”

Finn snorts. “My dick appreciates the compliment, I assure you, but—”

“But,” Poe agrees. “I know. I’ll talk to someone, today. And—keep talking. I—” He caresses Finn’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Thank you. Really. For listening to me. Believing me.”

“Of course.”

“I will be ok. I _will_. I can do this.”

 _“Fuck yeah,_ you can. I promise you.”

“Yeah?” Poe nods, nods again. “Yeah. I can. And I will. But—later, though. I’ll talk—later. Right now, all I want to do is just—be with you. Be safe.”  

“You _are_ safe, Poe,” Finn growls. “You _are.”_ He kisses Poe again, long and yielding. Poe kisses Finn back with everything he’s got. He closes his eyes, feels himself rooting deeply into his body. In the woods, on the base, in his beloved’s arms.

Finn’s hands rise to Poe’s hair and _pull_ on the dark curls, just rough enough to keep Poe still and hard and _needing_. He grinds up against Finn’s hips, unable to stop himself. Finn breaks off from the kiss with a knowing smirk. “You’ve got a problem, here, too.” He palms Poe’s cock through his shorts. “Want me to help?”

“Fuck— _fuck_ yeah. Always. But—you know it’s—not an—an obligation. To re—recipro—” Poe’s breath hitches.

Finn gives him a _look_. “Two years together and you think I don’t know that by now?”

“I just thought—” Finn cups his hand around Poe’s cock and strokes it. Poe grabs onto the tree for support as his knees threaten to buckle. “Thought it should—should be said,” he manages, dazed.

“Well,” Finn nods. “You said it.” Finn takes Poe’s elbows and switches their positions so that Poe’s leaning back against the tree.

“I did.”

“So.” Finn slowly, leisurely, languidly, drops to his knees.

“So.” Poe stares down at him, eyes caught on Finn’s face—space-bright eyes, long-sloping cheekbones, dark-coiled hair.

“So, good job.” Finn rests his thumbs on Poe’s waistband and slowly, leisurely, languidly, draws it down over his erection.

“Oh.” Poe’s head tips back against the tree. “That’s good, then.” Finn nudges him to lift first one foot, then the other, as he tosses the shorts and boxers to his side. “Very good,” Poe says faintly, and then Finn lowers his mouth to Poe’s dick, and the few remaining brain cells still operational turn off their consoles and prop their feet up on the dash to watch the main event. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Poe says, and that’s the last coherent word out of his mouth for a long time.

Finn didn’t come into this relationship with the fourteen years of practice Poe already had under his—well—belt, when they first met. But he’s always been a quick learner, and resourceful, to boot. His fist matches the movements of his mouth, up and down and back and forth along Poe’s dick, slow at first and then speeding up, insistent, twisting and pressing right under the ridge to make Poe _groan_ and throw his head back against the tree.

Poe’s hands fumble down towards Finn’s head, take him and pull him in until his mouth envelops the root of Poe’s cock. He shoves forward and drags back along the back of Finn’s throat. Finn has made it abundantly clear that he likes this, wants Poe to be rough, loves the thrill and the trust and the danger. Poe can’t really handle a _lot_ of rough—the thought of someone else choking on him is _not_ ok. But he’s found, over time, a fulcrum point between his comfort and Finn’s pleasure.

Right here, right now? This is it. He holds Finn down one moment more, watches as his lover’s eyes flutter shut with bliss and just enough hypoxia, then eases him back so he can suck in a gasp of air. Finn smiles around his cock, hollows his cheeks, and reaches up to grab onto Poe’s waist and hold him tight.

Poe’s smiling too, a big foolish grin. This is—just— _right,_ his body and Finn’s, sunlight on his skin, trees and sky, Finn’s hands on his waist, his hands on Finn’s head, love zinging through their veins. Finn’s _mouth_ , oh Force, swallowing him down, lips stretching around his cock like they were made to be there, tongue flicking across the slit before sliding back down to tease around his balls.

Poe closes his eyes and feels his senses narrow down to Finn’s mouth—his cock—and the shaking coil of tension gathering in his stomach. He shoves forward into Finn again and feels the coil snap into place—just—right—and eases off again as he starts to come with a full-body shudder.

Finn holds his lips around the tip and swallows him down, again, again, until Poe’s knees buckle beneath him. He slides to the ground, boneless. Pulls Finn down with him, eyes closed, gasping for breath. Sprawls in a loose heap beneath the ferns.

It’s a long time before Poe can find any coherent words again. “Finn,” is the first one he finds, and it’s really all he ever means, so he repeats it. “ _Finn_ ,” he says again.

“Mmm?” Finn asks, wrapping one of Poe’s curls around a finger.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Poe agrees, with one of the most incredibly blissed-out expressions Finn has ever seen on him.

Finn laughs softly and curls in closer. “Sleep, Poe,” he murmurs, voice roughened.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Poe repeats. When he figures out how to move a hand, he brings it up to Finn’s back to stroke him, soft and loving. “ _Love_ you,” he whispers.

“Love you too.” Finn tucks his head into Poe’s shoulder, nuzzling into the thicket of dark curls. Melts beneath Poe’s soft touch, languid and replete. Listens to Poe’s heartbeat, steady beneath his ear. Breathes in Poe’s familiar scent, sharpened by the salt-leaf tang of sex.

Poe lets out one long, utterly contented sigh—and sleeps.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk about the things  
> you can't explain  
> to touch is to heal  
> to hurt is to steal  
> if you want to kiss the sky  
> better learn how to kneel
> 
> — _Mysterious Ways (U2)_


	20. you. have done. enough. to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: verbal harassment, discussions of past potential rape, and brief instances of all of the following: fisticuffs, blood, flashback.

With an easy run back to the base, a quick shower—ok, it was supposed to be a quick shower, but they were both in there at the same time, and Poe’s legs slick with soap and shampoo feel so damn good around Finn’s cock, and Finn’s hand just knows its way around Poe’s cock better than a blaster, at this point, so…

Well. Near-death experiences and protracted grief and worry and fear and reunion tend to have an astounding aphrodisiac effect on them. Much as Finn would rather not know this…it’s better than the alternative. Right? Of course right. Clean, dry, shaved, dressed, and mostly presentable, they head down to the mess hall, hand in hand. Finn stops himself at the last minute from reaching up to fix Poe’s hair, for fear of triggering him, so there’s a stray curl bouncing off his beloved’s forehead, which is too endearing for words.

The mess hall is nearly empty at this hour—it’s almost time for the noon meal, actually. Only the few other fighters off-duty today are still lounging at the long tables, playing sabacc or reading datapads or chatting with each other or just staring into the middle distance, lost in thought. Poe heads straight to the caf machine by the door and starts pouring a pair of cups. Finn cuts and toasts a few pieces of bread for them with a laser knife, spreads one with bantha butter and roseberry jam for Poe, the other with tok-nut butter and forest honey for himself. The bread’s on the far end of the serving line, behind a tall stand of jaquira fruit, so he doesn’t even hear the door swing open and shut again as another person enters.

Poe hears it. Sees it, too, out of the corner of his eye. His hands still on the jug of caf. _In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four. In—_ He resumes pouring caf as soon as he can get his breathing under control, focusing on the task as though it requires as much concentration as piloting a X-wing with a disabled S-foil through a dogfight on a volcanic planet. A dollop of blue milk in one. A shake of zwil in the other. He can do this. He can. He will.

It occurs to him, distantly, that it might be possible to die of masochism. To push himself over the edge until he—just—snaps.

“The dream.”

Poe stills. The voice is lighter, without the mask. Still reaches down the length of his spine with Hoth-iced fingers.

“When you thought about kissing me.”

Poe’s hands clench on the handle of the cup.

“I nudged that memory into your dream. When you were asleep. Remember when I admired your dreams?”

Poe breathes in, out.

“You wanted to kiss me, then. I remember. I know that you did.”

In. Out.

“Not a surprise that you wish I’d fucked you, instead of tortured you.”

Finn’s arm locks around Poe’s chest mid-lunge. “Not worth it,” he mutters in Poe’s ear. Poe stamps on his instep to make him let go, then finishes his lunge, cracking his fist into Kylo’s jaw.

Kylo blinks, eyes watering with the impact. “Any more?” he asks.

It would be a mistake to assume that Poe’s shorter frame holds less power than Kylo’s. Poe’s weight stays on the balls of his feet, crackling with rage. After a moment, however, he drops back to the ground.

“Plenty,” he answers mildly. “And I’m sure you’d like me to demonstrate, so you can feel less guilt over what you did to me. Which is precisely why I will not. You earned every bit of that guilt. Enjoy it.”

He bares his teeth in a mock-smile, retrieves his cup of caf, pivots on his heel, and strides out of the room.

“Want ice?” Finn asks.

Kylo squints at him. “What?”

“Never mind. Here.” Finn scoops a cupful of ice from the serving line and hands it to Kylo. After a moment’s hesitation, the ex-Darksider takes it and raises it to his jaw. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime.” Finn smiles sweetly as he leans against the counter, arms crossed across his chest. “And anytime you provoke him again, you can be sure I will happily watch him pound you into the floor. I don’t believe in fistfights, personally, but apparently it was worth it to Poe, which makes it worth it to me. Rey’s a good friend of ours, you know? She’d be happy to block you from the Force long enough to make it a fair fight. So consider this a warning shot. Because what you said, just then? That was harassment. Which we Resistance scum frown upon. And we may not have made it perfectly clear earlier, but—”

Finn leans in towards Kylo. Kylo leans back. “You are here under the grace of the Resistance. If you violate the rules of the base, you will be required to leave. So now would be a good time to learn how to be polite. You seem to be a quick learner, so I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Right?”

“If you think threatening me will help anything—”

“Not threatening. Promising.” Finn leans in even closer, all hint of a smile gone from his face. “You,” he says, voice low and tightly controlled. “Have done. Enough. To him.” He takes a breath, feels the pit of pure fury burning through his stomach. “Make one more. Wrong move. And you are done.” His teeth close over the last word.

“He would have been mine, you know.” Kylo leans back against the counter, eyes hooded. “If I’d fucked him on the _Finalizer_. Or on the _Vengeance_ , while he was awake. Never would have looked back.”

Finn stares at Kylo. His body is very, very still. “You are lucky I do not believe in fistfights.” He turns to leave.

“You would if I didn’t have the Force. Scared to fight me, are you?”

Finn turns back, deliberate. “No,” he answers, very calm. “I don’t believe in fistfights. You are not going to get anything out of insulting me. Insulting Poe, on the other hand, is a punishable offense around here. Do you understand that yet?”

A smile flickers across Kylo’s face. “Jealous, are you? You know he’d have been mine.”

For a long moment, Finn just stares at him. “You,” he says at last, “are unbelievable.”

With deliberate care, he returns to the breadstand, balances a piece of toast and a jaquira in each hand, and walks out of the mess hall.

 

 

 

“I shouldn’t have punched him,” Poe mumbles.

“Nope.” Rey hums in satisfaction as the power coupling grinds neatly into place. She hops down from the _Falcon’s_ right engine cluster, grabs the newly-repaired ion converter, trades her wrench for a screwdriver, and pats Poe on the head. “But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Poe sighs, lifting his head from where his arms cross over his knees. “Until it turned into a whose-is-bigger contest. I’ve never understood the appeal, really. I mean, ok, bigger is great, but there’s a point where big just turns into ouch, you know—” He winces as Rey sends a handful of bolts flying into his back.

“More than I needed to know, Poe. _Way_ more than I needed to know.”

“It’s just—I’m trying to be a good person here, you know? But I can’t even look at him without—” Poe’s voice drags a bit more than he intended it to. “I want to kill him, Rey,” he whispers. “I don’t—I’ve never—I mean—I fight, I kill, but it’s for a _cause_ , against enemy militants who are actively trying to kill me. I’ve never just wanted to kill someone before, just outright—I can’t believe I—the _anger_ , Rey. It’s just overwhelming.”

Rey looks down at him, brow furrowed. She concentrates for a moment on tightening the screws on the ion converter. When it’s solidly attached, she jumps down from the engine again and drops cross-legged to the hangar floor, facing Poe. “You know,” she says, “that’s actually something he’d understand.”

Poe looks up at her, startled.

“Overwhelming anger. Desire to kill. It’s something he’s struggled against since he was tiny.”

“Are you expecting me to feel sorry for him because he wants to kill me?”

“From the sound of it, that’s not his goal any more, but even so—no, I’m not.”

“He wants to kill just—because. For fun, for kicks, whatever. I want to hurt him because he hurt me. Very different situation.”

“Poe. He didn’t choose it any more than you did.”

“But now he wants to go around provoking it in everyone else?”

Rey tilts her head, considering. “Possibly.”

“How is that supposed to be a good solution?”

“It’s not. But, Poe—he _has_ been wronged. He _has_ had a very hard life. He doesn’t really know how to—you know. How to people.”

Poe snorts. “Neither did you, when you first came here. No offense, I mean—”

Rey grins. “None taken. I know I didn’t.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that! But you didn’t go around baiting people with reminders of what you _did_ to them, what you _could_ have done—” Poe’s voice cuts out for a moment. Rey waits. “Does he want me to—to _thank_ him for—for not—” Poe presses his hands to his mouth, nauseous. “He could have.” Poe whispers. “So easily. Both times. He could have. And I know it. And he knows it. And I _would_ have been glad, that he wasn’t killing me yet. I—”

He puts his head between his knees and breathes. Rey puts a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him.

Booted footsteps approach, stop a few feet away. “Poe. You ok?”

Poe opens his eyes, rests them on the outline of Finn’s shadow on the duracrete. “You know, buddy, that’s just not going to be a good question to ask for a long time.”

“Right. Sorry. I knew that. Well—do you still want to punch Kylo?”

Poe lifts his head, exchanges a glance with Rey. “We were just discussing that, in fact.”

“Come to any conclusions?”

Poe sighs. “Yes, I’d love to punch him again. Or worse. But I’m a good person, and good people don’t do that, even when they want to.”

“Good for you, though, Finn, for sticking it to Kylo,” Rey cuts in. She hops up and returns to her engine, summoning a wrench to her hand on the way.

“You _what_?” Poe swivels around to squint up at Finn.

Finn blinks at Rey. “How’d you even hear about it?”

“Serving droid told BB-8,” she grunts, bearing down on a durasteel bar until it locks into position, “who told me and Jess.”

“Who clearly didn’t tell _me_.” Poe reaches a hand up towards Finn. “Come sit. View’s lovely from down here. What happened?”

“If by ‘view,’ you mean my girlfriend’s—” Jess walks over to join them, swaggering under the weight of an overloaded toolbelt.

“No! No. Definitely not. All yours.” Poe grins up at her.

“All _mine,_ thanks very much,” Rey calls, head stuck deep inside the engine.

“Damn straight.” Jess leans against the side of the engine and folds her arms across her chest, grinning down at Poe.

“Right. Sorry, Rey.” Poe rubs his forehead. “You know I didn’t mean—”

“I know, I know.” Rey’s grin is apparent, even hidden behind durasteel. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Because clearly everyone’s been going way too easy on you lately.”

“…and you’re trying to distract me, and it’s almost working. But seriously, Finn. What happened? I thought you were against fighting to solve problems.”

“I am,” Finn agrees calmly. He settles down next to Poe and hands him his breakfast. “But I’m willing to make exceptions. It seemed important to you, so I may have impressed upon him that if he provokes you again, there will be unpleasant consequences.”

“It’s a good thing it was Finn he was talking to, and not me,” Jess adds, “because otherwise I probably would have tried to take him out.”

“Jess—”

“I know, Rey, I know. And I would have called you in first to de-Force him. But still.”

“Violence is not going to help anything.” Finn glares at Jess.

“Feels good, though.” Jess shrugs, unrepentant. “Look, Finn, don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything. I just—BB showed us the serving droid’s holovid. _Force_ , the look on his face when he was baiting you—”

“What did he say?” Poe asks, voice low and hard.

“You don’t really want to know.” Jess busies herself with peering into the left engine cluster.

“Get away from that engine, Jess…” Rey warns, voice echoing in the durasteel chamber.

“Dammit—I was just looking! Why are you watching me with the Force? It’s rude.”

“What did he say?” Poe repeats, insistent.

Jess scrubs her booted toe on the duracrete, silent.

“Nothing more than he said to you, Poe,” Finn mutters.

“Finn.”

Finn sighs. “He implied that you would have preferred him to me, if he’d slept with you. It’s not a big deal. He’s just trying to get a rise out of us. And it worked on you, so now he’s pleased with himself, and he’s going to try again until he figures out that he’s not going to get anything more from you.”

Rey slips out of the engine so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t crack her head on the durasteel. Or maybe it’s a Force-thing. Probably a Force-thing. “That’s harassment. Isn’t it? There are rules against that here, you said so. You should report him for it.”

“It is indeed harassment. I reported him for it.”

Poe turns to Finn. “You already did?”

Finn snorts. “Yeah. Why do you think it took me so long to get out here?”

“I love you.” Poe presses a swift kiss behind Finn’s ear.

“Weirdos,” Jess laughs.

“I may have had to report myself for threatening him, as well,” Finn admits. “And, uh. And you for punching him.”

“Force’s sake, _why?”_ Poe stares at him, dumbfounded. “There is such a thing as too honest, you know.”

“Because this is what justice means.” Finn’s eyes are clear and hard. “He’s entitled to be safe from punches and threats, same as we’re entitled to be safe from harassment. _This_ is what we fight for. Otherwise we’re no better than they are.”

“Finn.”

Finn avoids Poe’s scowl. “So…we might all be on scrub-up for two days, as punishment.”

“Finn!”

Finn finally grins, insouciant. “Welcome to the Resistance, Poe!”

“Ah, fuck you.” Poe whacks Finn’s arm, then pulls him closer. “Next time I’m shacking up with someone a little less honest, y’hear?” he mumbles into Finn’s shoulder. “Nerfherder.”

Finn laughs and kisses the side of his head. “Love you too, Poe. Do you—” His comm chimes an alert, startling both of them upright. Finn fumbles on his wrist to check it. “Shit! Another shuttle’s arriving now.” He presses another kiss to Poe’s forehead and shoves reluctantly to his feet. “Want to come along?” he asks Poe. “I have to go greet them.”

Poe slowly shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy. I think I’ve had enough of Stormtroopers to last a lifetime. But I’m really glad they’re joining you. You’re doing some damn good work in the galaxy. You know that, right?”

Finn shrugs. “Working on it,” is all he says. With a crooked grin, he jogs off across the hangar to the landing bay.

Jess sighs. “That’s my cue too, I guess. Moment I finish my ship, we’re going up to scrimmage with the latest recruits, so…I think I have to get back to that. You’ll be all right, Poe?”

Poe looks up at her with his best Commander’s glare. Jess grins. “Glad to have you back, nerfherder.” With a brief X-wing salute, she’s off.

Poe closes his eyes for a moment, drinking in the familiar smells of the hangar, the rattle and snap of tools and arc welders, Jess’ muffled curses as she works with a mech droid to get _Dagger One_ back into working condition.

At last he sighs, drops his head to his knees again. “I still want to kill him,” he whispers.

“He had no _choice_ , Poe.” Rey’s voice echoes inside the durasteel engine.

“No _choice?”_ Poe bites. “He made a choice to kill the Jedi. He made a choice to kill his father. He made a choice to—”

“Yes!” Rey snaps. “Yes, Poe. He did. But—don’t you see that those weren’t full choices? He thought they were going to kill him. He was being torn apart by trying to be either Light or Dark, not both.”

“So why not run away! Why not talk to them? There were so many different choices he could have made!”

“Yes,” Rey answers. “There were. And he didn’t. I don’t know what you would have done, in his place. What I would have done. But the fact remains that _we are not in his place._ We never have been. I don’t know what it feels like to be pulled by the Dark side. Not the way he feels it. So where do I get the right to go telling him what he should have done? He had no choice.”

“Neither did the Stormtroopers! But even they are defecting now.”

“Because they were being forced to fight by _others,_ Poe. Kylo has no way to escape. It’s in his own head _._ His own heart. It’s not a thing you can fight, or escape. You can _manage_ it, that’s all. Temper it. Balance it with the Light. Or—I mean—I hope so, at least.” Her voice drops. “But he’ll never be able to escape it completely. It—it _is_ like the Stormtroopers, Poe.”

“Like the Stormtroopers,” Poe says, low and deadly.

“Yes.” Rey looks at him, eyes level. “Like Stormtroopers who couldn’t choose to escape.”

For a moment Poe just stares at her, not sure he heard right. Clenches his hands into fists, just to reassure himself that the calluses on his hands are from the controls of an X-wing, not a TIE-fighter. That he is on the Resistance base. Not trapped on the _Obsession_ , killing everyone he loves.

“ _Fuck_ you,” Poe bites at last. He shoves to his feet, speechless with fury. Opens his mouth to say something more—whirls on his heel, and storms out of the hangar.

 

 

 

“Finn,” Rey says. Her voice is so unexpectedly fragile, Finn looks up from his work with a start. He’s jammed into his makeshift office, surrounded by reports and holovids and transmission transcriptions and numbers and files and—

“What?” he asks, putting the datapad aside.

She files in slowly, closes the door behind her. Sinks into the chair before his desk, pulls her knees to her chest, fits her chin in between them.

“Rey.”

“I said something really bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something that hurt Poe. Very badly. I shouldn’t have said it. I meant it, and I think it’s true, but—I shouldn’t have said it, and I'm not sure he’ll forgive me for it.”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “Did you try apologizing?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Rey ducks her head.

“What did you say?” Finn asks, suddenly afraid of the answer.

Her shoulders pull in. Finally she admits, very soft, “I said that Kylo couldn’t choose to not be pulled by the Dark side. Like—the Stormtroopers.”

“…Ok,” Finn says, still not quite following.

“Like Stormtroopers who couldn’t choose to escape,” Rey adds at last, voice scraping against her throat.

Finn’s silent for a long time. “Oh,” he says at last.

Rey closes her eyes.

“You need to apologize.” Finn’s hands are very cold.

It takes him a long time to realize that Rey’s crying, very silently, huddled into herself. He walks over to her, kneels before the chair, holds out his arms. After a long moment, she leans into them, wraps her arms around his shoulders, presses her head into his shoulder.

“I don’t want to be pulled between all of you,” she whispers at last. “I meant what I said. I never meant to say it. I don’t know what to do. I understand—at least some of what Kylo feels. I understand why he does what he does, at least a little. He’s scared. He’s furious. He’s sunk up to his ears in shame and guilt for everything he’s done. He’s certain this will never work. Poe insisted that he didn’t need to be protected from Kylo. Kylo said he wouldn’t bait him. He did, and I’m going make him apologize. And I’m going to apologize to Poe, too. I just—” She shakes her head against Finn’s shoulder. “I—”

Finn leans back, takes her shoulders in his hands. “Apologize,” he says.

She looks at him. Brings the hem of her shirt up, scrubs the tears and sweat off her face. Nods. Stands. Leaves the room.

 

 

 

“Poe.”

He looks back over his shoulder, nods at her, and turns back to _Black One._ There’s a long streak of grease down his arms, a line of sweat down his back to match it.

“I’m sorry.” Rey grips her saber-hilt. “It was cruel, and uncalled-for. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You meant it.” He focuses on one particularly grimy spot, bares his teeth in concentration.

“Still.” Rey positions her feet in the fighter’s stance, shoulder-width apart and braced for action, just to practice the motion.

“Look,” Poe says at last. He stops polishing the ship, stares at the dull gleam of the half-polished hull. “You saved my life. At the potential expense or ruin of your own. I am more grateful than I can say, and I’ll be indebted to you for the rest of my life. I’m not going to hold a grudge. I just—” His jaw tightens, relaxes.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, trying to keep her voice steady.

He looks back again. Sees, suddenly, the weariness in her posture, the set of her chin, the red rim around her eyes. Looks back at _Black One,_ sets down his rag, wipes his hands. Turns to her. Opens his arms.

Rey steps into them and hugs him back. Closes her eyes, tries not to cry for the second time in one day—what’s _wrong_ with her? Listens to the strong pulse of his heartbeat, the distant whir of a mech droid. Lets herself be comforted, just for a moment. She’s just—so—

_Tired._

 

 

 

“You need to apologize to Poe.” Rey folds her arms across her chest and glares at Kylo in the privacy of a side office.

“I know.”

“Why did you say it?”

“They were so happy, this morning. So happy, and I could feel it. I’m never going to—”

“Try again, Kylo. And don’t lie to me. I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

He looks up at her. The purpling bruise on his cheekbone nicely complements the harsh red of his scar.

“It’s never going to work,” he says at last.

She stares down at him, impassive. “You heard Luke this morning. Ground your anger in your own center. Don’t let it rule you. _Practice,_ Kylo. Fucking _practice_ , and maybe it will work.”

“They’re never going to accept me.”

“Not as long as you keep baiting and harassing Poe.”

“Why are you still trying to save me?”

“Because you don’t get to run away from us this easily. I know you don’t think this will work. You said you’ve give it a try. So _try._ Don’t take the coward’s way out.”

Kylo glares at her.

“You need to apologize.”

“With a babysitter?”

“Yes,” Rey agrees, satyn-wrapped durasteel. “As per Luke’s orders, this morning. You’ve now lost the privilege of free movement on the base. Congratulations. So I will stay in range, of course, but I’ll leave you two in relative privacy.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me.”

Rey lifts her wristcomm to her face. “Poe.”

Brief crackle, then answer. “Yeah?”

“Would you like Kylo to apologize to you?”

Silence. “I don’t really give a fuck either way,” Poe says at last. “On top of everything else he’s done? It doesn’t even rate.”

Rey nods, forgetting he can’t see her. “All right,” she says. “Thank you.”

“…Anytime,” Poe says, and cuts the line.

Rey looks at Kylo.

Kylo looks back.

“Practice,” she says.

“Fuck you,” he says.

Rey smiles.

 

 

 

His comm pings with an alert. Poe falls out of the meditative peace of hyperspace with a start, finds himself in the sun-dappled clearing. He probably should have turned his comm off, but he’s hoping Finn will be able to finish early from his afternoon briefing with Leia and take a short break. He thumbs the comm— “Yeah?”

“I would like to speak with you for a moment.”

 _DON’T TAKE HIM. DON’T TAKE HIM. PLEASE._ For one terrifying moment Poe’s back in the chair, straining against the restraints, screaming for mercy. Warm blood drips between his fingers from where the durasteel restraints ripped his wrists open.

A quick, gasping breath, and he’s back, sitting in the forest clearing, hands shaking in his lap. Only the lingering calm of meditation keeps him from leaping straight into panic. Poe stares straight ahead for a long time, trying to fit himself back into his own body.

His comm crackles. “Did—you hear me?”

Poe blinks down at it. _What the absolute fuck._

_Oh. Is that what happened?_

He takes another moment to ensure his breathing remains under control before flicking the button to answer. “What?”

“I said, I would like to speak with you.”

“I’m not interested in your apologies.”

“Don’t worry,” Kylo says, very dry. “Neither am I.”

Poe almost laughs at that, startled. “Then what do you want?”

“I—have a request to make of you. I would prefer to speak in person, if you would be amenable.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“That won’t affect my decision, I assure you.”

Kylo’s silent for a long time. “Please,” he says.

Poe stares at the asuka tree. “I’m in the clearing,” he says at last. “You have thirty seconds to make your case.”

 

 

 

He hears the footsteps long before he sees the tall, sloping form. Kylo stops at the edge of the clearing as though waiting for permission to enter.

Poe waits, cross-legged on the forest floor, staring at his hands.

“Will you,” Kylo says at last. “Teach me.”

Poe looks up at him, wary. “Teach you what?” he asks.

“How to,” Kylo says.

Poe waits for him, stony-eyed. Finally he gives up. “How to _what,_ Kylo?”

“People.”

Poe blinks at him, then scowls. “Are you seriously—”

“Rey says that when she first got here, she didn’t know how to interact normally. That on Jakku, and Ach-To, her options for peer friendship were highly limited. That you trained her in social interactions. And as she seems reasonably competent at socializing now, I thought I’d ask you to do the same.”

In his most reasonable mission-planning voice, Poe asks, “What the fuck makes you think I’d want to do it?”

“I don’t. But I think you might do it, even though you don’t want to. You have a habit of doing things like that.”

Poe’s on his feet, lunging towards Kylo, pointing a long finger at his throat. “Don’t you even think about it,” he hisses. “Get out of here before I report you for harassing me again.”

Kylo spreads his hands in as non-threatening a manner as he can. It works about as well as a Wookie attempting to soothe an infant with a Shryiwook roar. Kylo’s hands are just out by his sides, palms up, ungloved, but a piece of Poe’s hindbrain snaps at the sight all the same. His fingers twitch into fists.

“Get. Out,” Poe bites.

“I apologize.” The words sound downright _bizarre_ in Kylo’s formal tones. Poe blinks. “I did not mean that as a threat. I meant only that I thought there was a chance you might be amenable to the idea, as you have in the past done things you considered unpleasant, but necessary.”

“This is not necessary.”

“Not to you.”

Poe folds his arms across his chest. “Then why is it necessary to you? I thought you were going to go off and search the world for Force-sensitives so you can build your own little Order.”

“ _Do not mock my_ —” Kylo clears his throat. Center. Center. Find his center. Use it to ground his anger. “I will also have to return here to the base from time to time. And while traveling and convincing people to join the new Order, I will need to know how to talk to them.”

“Why don’t you think you know how to do that?” Besides the obvious, of course. “Why do you think I’m the only one who can help you?”

“To answer your first question: because for the last sixteen years, I have served as a Sith apprentice and a knight in the First Order. Behind a mask.” Which he misses very desperately right now, in fact. “And even before that, I was not good at socializing.”

Poe presses his lips against a smirk. No, he was not. Poe remembers.

Kylo catches the feeling from him and glowers. “And, to answer your second question, in part because Rey recommended you, in part because, judging from what I hear around the base, you are clearly a decent hand at it, and in part because I believe that you are the least likely to lie to me to make me feel better. I know I’m bad at this. I know I need to get better at it. Telling me ‘nice effort, you’ll get it next time’ is not going to help. Shouting at me might.” Kylo’s lips twitch up unexpectedly. “At least, it worked when Rey was the one shouting.”

“What do I get out of it?”

Kylo raises his eyebrows. “I had not expected such a mercenary attitude from you.”

Poe raises an eyebrow in response. “If you think I would willingly spend time with you out of the goodness of my own heart, you are more delusional than I thought.”

Kylo does not take the bait. “I thought that Rey’s wishes would be enough to encourage you to comply. Or at least to give it a try. I had not realized you were still so afraid of me.”

Poe ignores the jibe just as easily. “What are you offering?”

“I will not try to provoke you again.”

Poe shakes his head. “Nope. You can’t anyway. If you try anything again, you’ll get punished or kicked off the base.”

Kylo considers the tips of his fingers. “What is it that you want from me, then?”

Poe looks Kylo up and down. “I want you to be the best son you can possibly be to Leia. And I want you to fight as hard as you possibly can for the Resistance. For peace in the galaxy.”

Kylo considers this for a moment, impassive, then nods. “Deal.”

 

 

 

“How to People,” Poe states. “Lesson One.”

Kylo sits as far away as possible while still being reasonably close. It’s a tricky balance. Ten feet or so seems to do the trick, for now. He clasps his hands in his lap, not sure whether he’s more:

  1. nervous, because he knows he’ll never actually be able to function properly around people, so what the fuck is he doing here pretending he has a chance?
  2. annoyed, because Poe’s sitting here across from him looking all smug and perfect and beloved golden boy of the Resistance, Leia’s surrogate son, just because he was born with those looks and that charm and not a care in the world like being haunted by the Dark side since he was an infant.
  3. bored, because seriously? he’s a thirty-one-year-old Dark side adept. Too old for this banthashit _lessons_ business. The only one who’s instructed him in anything in the last sixteen years is Snoke, and his style is—well. Different from Poe’s. Very different. Constant fear of death is never boring.



“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Poe’s saying. “So I hope you were listening just then. Because it’s pretty clear you weren’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Kylo mumbles.

Poe tilts his head, regards him for a moment. “Yeah. Ok. We can work on eye contact, maybe, but the overall concept is good enough. Now, Lesson One. Second try. The most important thing to remember, when talking with people, is to think about actually liking them. It doesn’t matter how polite or charming you are, if you don’t like a person, that will come through.” He pauses for a moment. “Is there anyone you actually like?”

Kylo looks up, startled. “I—am here to learn,” he replies at last. “Not to answer questions.”

“Avoiding the question.”

Kylo looks down. The dark ridges on the hilt of his lightsaber glint in the sunlight. He runs a finger up and down its length, enjoying the small vibrations that travel up through his finger. “Rey,” he finally mumbles. “I think I like Rey. And my mother, sort of, sometimes, except I also really fucking hate her, too, so that gets a little confusing. Same with Luke. Um. I used to like Chewie, but now, ah.” Because of the life debt Chewie owed to Han, he can’t kill any member of Han’s family, but there are no prohibitions against severely wounding or maiming family members. An unambiguous order from Leia is the only thing standing between Kylo and another bowcaster shot to the stomach.

“Ah,” Poe echoes, very dry.

“Look, Poe.” Kylo leans in, intense. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has wanted to kill me. Trusting and loving are not things I am interested in. I just need to be able to talk to people without them wanting to kill me. And ideally deciding to give me their small children to train into Force-users.”

“Right.” Poe leans back against the tree, extends one leg out before him, and clasps his hands around the other knee. “Why did they want to kill you?” Besides the obvious, of course.

“Because they thought I was Vader. Or, in Rey’s case, because she thought I was trying to kill her, at the time.”

“Weren’t you trying to kill her?”

“No!” Kylo sits up straighter, affronted. “If I had been, I’d have killed them both. I am an experienced lightsaber-fighter, after all. I wanted to see what they would do, and I wanted to defend myself, because they were trying to kill me. And, most of all, I wanted to anger Rey so much that she would use the Dark side. I wanted her to train with me.”

Poe’s stomach clenches, nauseated. “You almost killed Finn so that you could snare Rey.”

Kylo looks at him with steady eyes, but says nothing. The words hang between them nonetheless: _almost_ was an accident.

_I’m not sure I can do this._

“You don’t need a lesson on how to socialize,” Poe says at last. “You need remedial training in basic morality.” He stands up and leaves the clearing.

 

 

 

Kylo pulls his knees to his chest and lowers his head to meet them.

 _What else could I have done?_ he shouts to the empty air. _I was utterly alone. I was being torn apart by forces I couldn’t control. I was destroying the galaxy and myself at the same time. I had no one. NO ONE. When I found another Force-sensitive—one who also had potential in the Dark side—why_ not _urge her to join my side? So yes, I tried to break her. And I nearly did. I saw it in her, at the very end. If the earth hadn’t moved, she might have been mine. And then we could have killed Snoke together, and ruled the galaxy, and torn_ it _apart instead of ourselves._

_THERE IS NO ROOM FOR ME IN THIS GALAXY, POE. I will try Rey’s crazy scheme until it fails, and then she will kill me, or I will kill her. Either way, it will all be over._

 

 

 

Poe goes straight to a sparring practice room and punches the living Force out of a hanging sandbag. He doesn’t stop until his knuckles are bleeding and bruised, even through the hastily-wrapped tape. When he steps back at last, cursing and unwrapping the tape from his battered hands—

“You said you were _fine_.” Rey bursts out.

Poe whirls, startled. “I am!”

She stares at him, eyes rimmed with white. “I can ask Kylo if he did, you know,” she says at last, voice shaking. “He won’t—be able to lie to me.” She steps inside the sparring room and braces herself on her staff.

Poe’s hands clench into fists by his sides. “You—you—”

“I am _not_ in your head, Poe. I told you. I’d never do that without your consent. I just—you’re—broadcasting. Very, very loudly. I didn’t mean to listen in. I _swear_.”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“I’m _sorry_. I’m so sorry. I just—I heard you and I—I—” Rey shakes her head to clear it. “Do you want me to ask him?” If he did that to Poe—if he really did—if Poe was—it takes Rey far too long to find her center again.

Poe stares at the ground, livid, furious, caged. Jaw clenched, hands gripping the loosened lengths of tape, weight on the balls of his feet. “No,” he growls at last. He can live with not knowing. He thinks. If she comes back and says yes, he did, he did, he did—Poe punches the bag again, hard. Watches it swing. “I don’t want to know.”

“You’re sure—”

Poe turns on her with a furious glare. “With everything else he’s done, what does it even _matter?”_

She stands her ground. “It matters to _you_ , Poe. To everyone who loves you.”

“I don’t want to know,” he snarls. “Would you have wanted to know, if you’d had a choice?”

She just looks at him.

Poe leans his head against the still-swinging bag, eyes stinging. “I’m _sorry_ , Rey,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I just—I’m sorry.” When he picks his head up from the bag again, she’s closer, standing just behind his shoulder.

“Poe.”

“Promise me you won’t tell Finn about this.”

She presses her lips together, silent.

“I told Finn that I was fine. That he didn’t. Because—because I don’t _know_ , for sure. I don’t _think_ he did. I _think_ I would know if he had. But I’ll never know. And I don’t want him to worry, or—to feel like he needs to fight him. Because _that’s_ never going to end well.”

“Why are you more concerned about Finn than yourself?” Rey asks, voice soft.

“I don’t want him to worry.”

Rey puts a hand on Poe’s shoulder and draws him in close. The hug is so unexpected, so welcome—he leans into her arms with a rush of gratitude.

“I’m sorry, Poe,” Rey whispers.

“It’s _ok,_ Rey. I’m back. I’m free. Thanks to you. You’ve already done so much more than I could have ever asked. I’m ok.”

“You really are the worst liar I’ve ever met. You know that?”

Poe scowls. She grins and whacks his shoulder, then sobers again. “I would say—if you need to talk, but—”

“Not about this. With you. I know, Rey. I’m sorry.”

She nods. “But—find someone, ok? I mean, I suppose punching bags is probably better than—”

“I’ll talk to someone, Rey. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll keep worrying as long as you keep being a nerfherder.”

“Force, you sound like her,” Poe smirks.

Rey shrugs, unable to suppress a smile. “Well, I’m told we’re related, so—”

“You’re impossible. I’m going to tell Luke he needs to knock you down an atmo level or two.”

“Related to _him_ , too.” Rey’s face cracks into a wicked grin.

“ _Absolutely_ impossible. I give up. Meditate, later?”

“If you can find me.”

“Upper clearing, beyond the east orchard, sitting on that big flat rock in the shade.”

She whacks him again and turns to leave. Halfway to the door, she turns back, serious again. “Finn’s stronger than you know,” she says, very serious. “He just wants to care for you. Let him, ok?”

Poe looks at her, then back down at his hands. “I don’t want to know,” he says. “I don’t want him to know.”

“Ok.” Rey nods at him, turns, and leaves the room.

Poe sags back against the wall, slides down to the floor, and buries his face in his knees.

He jerks upright, startled, as Finn’s arm slides around him. Blinks at his lover, suddenly sick with dread. “Did you—did Rey send you in here—”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “She said you’d been punching a sandbag to death. And you have.” He picks up one of Poe’s battered hands, fingers gentle around the scraped and bruised skin. “Hang on.” He pushes to his feet, pulls the medkit out of its small cabinet by the door, returns to Poe’s side. Smoothes a layer of bacta over Poe’s knuckles, wraps it with a bandage. “You could wear gloves, you know,” he says at last.

“Finn,” Poe says.

Finn looks up. “What?”

Poe stares at him. Opens his mouth.

Finn stares back, lines tightening around his eyes. “What?” he asks again.

Poe swallows.

“You’re absurdly bad at lying. You know that, right?”

Poe nods.

“What’s going on? Please. Tell me?”

Poe shakes his head.

“Look. I’m not going to push you. I just—” Finn looks down at his hands.

“I don’t know,” Poe says. Finn looks up at him. “If he did.”

Finn’s eyes widen. _If he—_ he mouths.

Poe forces himself to hold Finn’s gaze. It hurts. His breath comes faster—he closes his eyes, tips his head back, counts his breaths to come back down. No time for panic. Not now.

“I’m going to kill him.” Finn stands and paces. He looks sick. He looks back at Poe, fists clenched by his sides. “I'm going to _kill_ him.”

“Can’t. We need him.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Finn.”

“You don’t even _know?”_ Finn’s voice shakes.

“Finn. It’s ok.”

“It is _so_ not fucking ok.”

“It’s _over_. I’m here. I’m safe now, it’s ok, it’s all done. I just—needed to punch something this morning. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop fucking _saying_ that!” Finn’s voice breaks. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Why does this matter more than anything else?” Poe snaps. “With all of the things he’s done. To everyone in this fucking galaxy. We’ve decided to forgive him for everything else. To take him back in. That’s the General’s orders. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“It’s not _right_ ,” Finn growls. “It’s—”

“Nothing about this is right!” Poe bites. “But it’s what I’m going to do. As long as I don’t know, it doesn’t even matter. It’s ok.”

“Not when you end up here, punching a bag until your hands start bleeding!”

“It’s my choice,” Poe says, low and hard.

“You had a nightmare about it last night.”

“I have nightmares about fucking _everything_ , Finn. Why does it matter? It’s over, it’s done. If I don’t even know, it can’t have been that important.”

“Of course it fucking _matters_. It happened to you. You deserve to—to feel safe.”

“I do, Finn, I—”

“Safe enough to punch a sandbag?”

“Better it than a tree. At least this way, no dirt in my knuckles.”

Finn stares at him. “I,” he says, “do _not_ understand you.”

“Yeah.” Poe leans his head back against the wall. “Well. Neither do I.”

Finn stops pacing, runs a hand back over his hair. “How do you not even _know_?” he asks at last, voice shaking.

“If I ask him, he’ll lie. I’m not going to ask Rey to talk to him about it. And. Finn. I—” Poe takes a breath. “I don’t want to know,” he finishes, very quiet.

Finn opens his mouth to snap back—then closes it, slowly deflating. He sags back to the ground beside Poe, head in his hands. “You’re sure,” he says.

“I don’t know about you,” Poe murmurs, “but I really want to burn the fucking First Order into the ground.”

“Well,” Finn snorts. “On that, we agree.”

“So,” Poe continues, “if this is how to do it, then this is what I am going to do. We need Kylo. In order to work with him, _I need to not know._ Everyone else, as well. If they even _thought_ it, Finn—”

“And if he’s a danger to anyone else?”

Poe flinches back. “ _Shit._ I didn’t even think of that. Oh, shit.” He thinks for a moment, shakes his head. “No. Rey told me they decided to keep him under watch from now on. He won’t be able to do anything out of their range.”

Finn looks at him, mouth pulled in tight. Rubs his forehead, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Poe reaches a hand out to him. “It’ll be ok,” he says, very soft. “It’s—” He sighs. “It’s not the worst he’s—”

“You think that makes it any better?” Finn shakes his head, looking nauseous again.

“You think _knowing_ would make it any better?”

Finn presses his knuckles to his mouth and closes his eyes. Poe stares straight ahead, not thinking about anything at all. Anything. At all. He places a gentle hand on Finn’s shoulder. Is it better to be numb or distraught? He’s not quite sure, but at the moment, numb feels just fine, so: numb it is.

At last, Finn sits back and looks at him. “You’re—you’re sure this is what you want to do. Not ask him. Try to—to work with him. Fight with him.”

Poe nods.

“Ok,” Finn sighs. “If—if that’s what you want. Ok. I guess. Ok. I just—I hope—just be _careful. Please._ ” He throws his arms around Poe’s neck and hugs him with all his strength. “You’re _sure?”_ he asks again, voice cracking.

“About you,” Poe rasps, and pulls Finn closer. “And only you.”

 _It doesn’t matter,_ Poe thinks. _It doesn’t matter._ If he thinks it long enough, hard enough, often enough, it will eventually be true.

Finn’s mind is blank. He does not think about anything. Certainly not the way Poe looked up at him from the torture rig, eyes dead.  Or Ren’s menacing prowl, or the way Poe screams, in his nightmares, or—or—

Not working. Finn shoves his mind back onto the morning instead. Poe warm and strong and languid in his arms, sunshine on their skin, earth beneath their bodies. The two of them, a circuit, protected and protecting. Safe. Together. Loved.

They will be ok. They have to be. Therefore, they will be.


	21. rise up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience! And such lovely comments, wow, thank you. Your support means so much to me. I'm glad to be back on AO3! Stressful job is over, life is getting back to normal, and I even have a whumptastic cuddly erotic bathing fluffernutter gift for you all (a sequel to i held your heartbeat in my hands), which will be posted as soon as life is actually back to normal. 
> 
> Before we get there, though...there's this chapter. Highly recommended to read accompanied by sunshine, a cup of tea, and/or a warm hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **************************************
> 
>  
> 
> “For the only courage worth calling courage must necessarily mean that the soul passes a breaking point and does not break.”  
> – _Orthodoxy_ , G. K. Chesterton 
> 
>  
> 
> **************************************
> 
>  
> 
> ***TW: serious angst, grief, survivor's guilt, semi-graphic descriptions of the aftermath of violence, oblique reference to vomiting. As always, if you want a more specific, spoiler-y warning, feel free to ask in the comments or on tumblr!

Kylo’s hands are clasped behind his back. Feet: braced shoulder-width apart. Chin: raised. Eyes: on the General. The scar on his face throbs bright red with tension.

Poe takes this all in with one glance, then sets his eyes on the General himself, back erect, breathing as slowly and evenly as he can.

“After we killed Snoke, I took over as Supreme Leader,” Kylo’s saying. There’s a wave of shocked murmurings, but the room quickly silences again. “When I decided to come—back. Here. I ordered everyone in the First Order to submit to the Resistance.”

Leia’s lips twitch. “Did they?”

Kylo shrugs. He’s almost smiling. “My ship did, as did Snoke’s. They should arrive at 1400 tomorrow. Mine—the _Vengeance—_ and Snoke’s, the _Ultimatum."_

There’s a low snicker among the gathered officers at the names. Kylo shifts in place, but remains focused on Leia. Rey turns, very slowly, and gives the room a level look. They silence immediately. Poe smiles.

Kylo clears his throat and continues. “Most of the rest have gathered under Hux. The Knights of Ren—” The smile leaves. “Have joined Hux as well, although they are still not under his direct command.”

Leia nods. “So we gained two star destroyers.”

“Interdictors,” Ackbar corrects, with the closest thing to a smile Poe has ever seen on him. If Mon Cals could drool, he probably would be now.

“Interdictors,” Leia agrees, with a regal nod. She raises her brows at Ackbar and Statura. “Have an idea of what we could do with one?”

They look at each other, then back at Leia.

“Win,” Statura says.

Poe grins.

 

 

 

By the time they’re dismissed from the situation room, Poe’s head is spinning with ideas. Everyone’s a little bit giddy—they’ve never had such a windfall. But before Poe even makes it out to the hangar, his comm is chiming again with another summons to the situation room.

“Slacker!” Snap shouts, trying to corral a gaggle of new recruits. Poe flutters his fingers in a beautiful Yavinese gesture of— _welcome,_ that’s it, definitely a sweet gesture of kindness and hospitality. Or something like that.

Snap flips him off in a straightforward Akivan insult. Poe laughs, heads back to the base, and files in again to his customary place by the display console. Finn’s there too, to his surprise, standing at the edge of the room. Poe raises a brow, gets a shrug in return. The Freedom Squadron flanks Finn’s shoulders, so—something to do with the Freedom Campaign, clearly. They wait in silence for the last of the officers to arrive.

“We’ve received a transmission request from Moonreach,” Leia announces, once everyone’s gathered. She nods at Nerro. “Open the line, please.”

Nerro bends over the console, whispers with a few of the comms techs. The holoprojector flares to life, flickers out, then in again. Nerro frowns, adjusts the controls.

A wavery blue image of a Stormtrooper without a helmet resolves into focus. She’s jabbing at her controls, frowning. “How do you work this thing? Is it on?” A white-armored hand points over her shoulder to a set of incoming-transmission display controls.

A moment later, the Stormtrooper jumps back in surprise, staring wide-eyed at something in front of her. “That—is are—what of—I but—um.” She snaps to attention. “Lieutenant Cor, formerly designated CR-4538, reporting for—addressing. The. Are you the—you are the general of the Resistance? You’re. A lot—smaller? Than the vids.”

Leia presses her lips together to suppress a smile. There’s a low susurrus of laughter behind her from the crowd of officers and intel techs. “I am General Organa of the Resistance, yes. Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Cor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The lieutenant blinks. “General. Sir. Ma’am.” She straightens again. “Reporting on the successful takeover of Moonreach base, on Eydin V. We—my comrades and I—submit ourselves to Resistance justice. We would like to join your cause. If the offer still stands.”

“We would be happy to have you, Lieutenant Cor. And all of your comrades.” Leia smiles at her, warm and welcoming. “What was the reason for this sudden mutiny, if I may ask?”

“We received flash-comms from a Resistance unit named the Freedom Squadron.”

Muffled cheering and X-wing high-fives on the Resistance side of the holocomm. Cor blinks, surprised, then schools her face back into pseudo-helmeted blankness. “We were inspired by its message. Some of us, that is. Others were not. So. There was some fighting. Over the past week. We won.” The fierce smile looks right at home on her long, dark features.

“Congratulations.” Leia inclines her head, one general to the next. “Good work.”

Whispering in the background. The lieutenant snaps a short order behind her, then faces front again. “We have Hux,” she states. Leia’s eyes flick to the side, momentarily distracted by Finn and the Freedom Squadron’s collective gasp. “Hold on one moment.” She looks back over her shoulder. “Transfer signal to holding cell A-295.”

The holo blinks. Finn and the Freedom Squadron stumble back against each other. It’s Hux, smaller than he looks in propaganda vids—or maybe that’s the effect of the aesthetic surrounding him. A restraining rig suits him, Finn thinks, and judging from the looks on his squadron’s faces, he’s not the only one who shares that opinion.

“Hux,” a disembodied voice orders from behind the holoprojector. “Wake up.” The man stirs, opens his eyes, and glares up into the holo.

“Good morning, Hux,” Leia greets him. “I trust you’re comfortable?”

“The First Order won’t stand for this,” he growls. “I hope you’re prepared for bombardment.”

“Hux. Do you have anything constructive to say? Because if not, I’d rather speak with Lieutenant Cor again. She really is a wonderful example of the best of Stormtrooper leadership.”

A few cut-off curses later, Cor flickers back into view. She’s smiling, broad and smug. Leia smiles back. “I think we might get along very well, Lieutenant Cor. However, Hux is right about the bombardment. I’m surprised no one in the First Order has sent troops over yet. I recommend an immediate evacuation. Do you have adequate shuttle capacity?”

“Yes, General.”

Leia nods. “Good.” She waves a hand to Nerro. “Transmitting coordinates for the rendezvous now. Send your shuttles one by one to meet with our forces. Each one of your fighters will be interrogated by my forces, as well as a Force-user, Luke Skywalker. Anyone who does not pass will, unfortunately, be summarily shot.”

Cor’s eyes widen. “Luke Skywalker,” she echoes, dazed. Leia waits, lips twitching against a smile. After a moment, Cor nods firmly. “I will inform them. Anyone who does not wish to be interrogated will stay here on Moonreach, sans exit shuttles. We will be at the rendezvous starting at—” She raises a brow at someone outside of the holo, then turns back. “0900 this morning.”

“Excellent.” Leia smiles at her. “I look forward to meeting you.”

Cor blinks. “Is it true that—” She presses her lips together, opens her mouth again. “If we do not want to fight. We can leave?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. It is.”

For a long time, Cor just stares at her. At last she nods, shoulders square, hands clasped behind her back in full attention. “I look forward to meeting you too, General Organa.”

The holo cuts out.

 

 

 

“Say hello and thanks to them for me, buddy.” Poe gives Finn a swift kiss and steps back.

Finn grins at him, flush with victory. “Placed your bet yet on how many Finns there will be in this new batch?”

Poe’s eyes crinkle with glee. “Five thousand, you said? Huh. Think I’m going for two hundred straight-up Finns, and maybe three hundred more variations.”

“Tell Snap! We could use some prize money for our real honeymoon someday.” Finn clambers up the ladder, hops down into the seat, and slides his helmet onto his head, giddy with the sound of Poe’s laughter. The rest of the Freedom Squadron follows suit, closing cockpits and shouting last-minute instructions to the ground mechs. Poe steps back and shields his eyes as the ships take off, one by one, following Luke, Nerro, and the rest of the comms-intel team working on the Freedom Campaign.

There’s a distinct chill up Finn’s spine as they drop out of hyperspeed above the rendezvous asteroid. He can still see their footprints in the dust on its surface from the prisoner exchange—his squadron’s on one side, Poe’s on the other. It’s all too easy to remember the moment he realized the cost of their release—was—Poe. The look in Poe’s eyes as they locked the cuffs onto his wrists. The flickering lights across his face, the—

“Suck it, First Order assholes,” Ajib mutters into his comm. Quelni laughs.

“Fuck yeah,” Poru agrees.

“Think we should do a celebratory wingover?” Elraina suggests.

Finn’s grateful for their bravado. “Sounds good to me,” he offers, trying to keep his voice light. As they spiral down to the pockmarked surface in perfect formation, Onira starts singing the Resistance’s fightsong in her gravely alto. As they all join in, Finn opens his comm to Nerro’s shuttle. Luke laughs and joins in. As their song draws to a close, the Freedom Squadron lands in their customary diamond formation and waits.

And waits.

And…waits.

Umoka, Poru, Quelni, and Elraina play a long-distance game of sabacc via their comms. Onira naps. Ajib, who was personally offended when he found out that the history they’d been taught was blatantly false, reads an analysis of the buildup to the Clone Wars. Finn and Nerro discuss strategy for their next flash-comm campaign.

Just as they decide to target star destroyers next, to see if they can commandeer one for the Resistance, a shuttle finally arrives. Once it lands, both sides start up their atmospheric generators. Finn clambers down the ladder of _Freedom One_ and stands at Nerro’s side, ready to greet the victors.

Several minutes later, the shuttle’s gangplank finally lowers. A short woman in a dusty and bloodstained set of Stormtrooper armor limps down the gangplank, leaning on another equally disheveled and helmetless Stormtrooper.

Nerro’s eyes sharpen on them in sudden concern. “Welcome.” She salutes them and steps forward. “You are Lieutenant Cor, right? Leader of the Moonreach rebellion?”

The ex-troopers halt at the base of the gangplank and stare at the Resistance’s delegation. The woman starts to speak, then coughs, raw and painful, bent in half. At last she straightens to attention, staring over their shoulders. “I am Cor,” she croaks, voice ragged. “Moonreach—” She stops. “Moonreach,” she says. The whir of the atmospheric generators is the only sound in the darkness of the asteroid.

 

 

 

This time, they don’t sing. Even Ajib has no quip to break the tense silence as they drop out of hyper above Moonreach—or, more precisely, above the series of still-smoking craters that used to be Moonreach. The Freedom Squadron, the Falcon, and the shuttle of survivors each land on the largest patches of solid ground they can find among the piles of rubble and ash.

The smell is indescribable. When Finn stands at last, wiping his mouth, he sees Poru helping Umoka up after doing the same. He takes a sip from his waterpak, spits it out onto the destroyed ground, and straps on his exomask. It helps against the smoke, but—unfortunately—not against the smell.

Finn pulls a life-sign scanner and the spare exomask from the compartment in the side of _Freedom One_ and joins Nerro’s team, the rest of his squadron, and the survivors from the shuttle at the gangplank to the Falcon. They hand out the extra exomasks to the survivors, pair up—one Resistance member with a life-sign scanner with one survivor—set up a grid search pattern, and set out across the ruined base.

Before they head out to their assigned zone, Finn nods at Lieutenant Cor’s blood-streaked, twisted ankle. “You need to get that seen to. We’ve got a medic—”

“No.” Cor yanks a durasteel bar from the rubble, tests her weight on it, and uses it as a staff as she limps up the first hill of smashed duracrete blocks. “I need to find my people.” Her close-coiling hair has gone grey with ash.

“Lieutenant Cor—” Finn’s head jerks up as something explodes in the distance. He squints through the thick smoke, finally sees the distant flames.

“Fuel cells,” Cor coughs. “Northwest quadrant. Southeast and southwest already went.”

“Fuck.” Finn shakes his head. He thumbs his comm to warn the Resistance members away from the northeast fuel cells, then hurries after Cor.

He catches up with her halfway up the first hill. Shading his eyes against the glare from still-burning fires in the far end of the base, Finn tries to orient himself in the standard layout of a First Order base, but the destruction is so complete it’s hard to even find what used to be the landing bay. The rubble shifts beneath his feet, treacherous, still hot from the fires smouldering beneath. He keeps an ear out for the scanner’s alert, but all is silent.

“All of them,” Cor rasps at last. She hauls herself up a steep slab of duracrete. “Loyalists. Rebels. _All_ of them. They didn’t even care. They just wanted us dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Cor.” Finn reaches down to help her up as she reaches the top of the slab. She pushes past him and limps on.

A bank of half-melted TIE-fighters looms above them. He reaches toward one—too hot to even touch. They detour around the line of ruined ships instead, squeezing between the hangar wall and the TIEs’ solar arrays. For a moment, Finn is vaulting through space, hands sweaty on the controls, testing out his name for the first time. He blinks, and they’re back at Moonreach, clambering over the wreckage, wreathed in smoke and fumes.

“They—” Cor stumbles as a shard of duracrete breaks beneath her foot. Finn reaches out a hand to steady her. She ignores it. “They just bombed it.” She pokes at a gap in the rubble with her stick, vaults over it, continues on. “Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t give us a chance to come back, or pretend to. Didn’t evacuate the loyalists. Not even the officers. Just—” Her voice gives out again into a hoarse cough.

“I’m so sorry, Cor,” Finn says again, very soft. He offers her his waterpak. She stares at it for a moment, then accepts it. Lifts up her exomask, takes a deep swallow, recaps it, hands it back, moves on.

Finn follows in silence.

 

 

 

The body is buried so deeply in ash, he almost misses it. It doesn’t show up on his life-sign scanner, so he grits his teeth and walks on. But Cor stops, kneels beside the body, and closes his eyes. Finn halts, waits for her. A distant finger of shame traces down his spine, but he can’t. The dead, the dead. There are too many to number. If he mourned all of them, he would have to sit down and never get up again. And he has to get up again. But Cor—

Cor needs this. “Force be with him,” Finn murmurs.

She blinks up at him through the haze. “Force be with him?” she echoes, trying out the words on her tongue. She nods. “Force be with him.” She uses the bar to push herself to her feet and climbs on up the wreckage.

 

 

 

Cor closes the eyes of the fifteenth corpse, ignoring the fact that the head and shoulders are no longer attached to a body. She plants her staff in the rubble, preparing to stand—and stops. Leans her head against the staff. Stares at the ragged underblacks trailing from the body.

“IR-4972.” Cor sweeps the burnt-edged hair off the body’s forehead. “Iri. Controlled the comms. Figured out how to send a message to you.”  

She falls silent. “Would never have rebelled,” she says at last. “If not for me. Maybe would have snuck out, on some mission, and joined you all. Would never have tried to turn an entire base.”

Cor’s head sinks. There’s a gash on the back of her neck, a streak of dried blood down to her collar. “We knew we were going to die. We were prepared for it. We wanted to die fighting for our freedom. Not as cannon fodder for them.”

She pushes to her feet and trudges on, leaning on her staff. “This.” She jerks her chin to the hell around them. “This,” she says. She bares her teeth, tips her head up to the clouds of smoke above them. “This is an abomination.”

“Yes.” Finn swallows. “It is. It fucking is.” His eyes are stinging. His throat burns. Ash, he tells himself. Just smoke and ash.

She looks at him. Nods. Pushes on.

 

 

 

At the fifty-eighth corpse, Cor doesn’t get up. Finn kneels beside her, ignoring the way the ragged edges of the duracrete bite into his knees. Cor stares at the body for a long time. It’s badly damaged, still mostly armored from the neck down. Impossible to tell gender, age, race beneath the ash. Distant shouts and crashes echo around them from the other rescuers and survivors. Finn’s own breath is loud in his ears.

“I should never have done it,” she says at last. Her face is blank. “I should have talked them down. Obedience. Loyalty. Then they’d still be alive.” Tears cut dark lines through the dust on her face.

“It’s not your fault,” Finn says.

She whirls on him. “I led them. I am responsible for their lives.”

Finn nods. “I know. I just thought I’d be the first to tell you that it’s not your fault. One of these days, you might believe it.”

She stares at him. Her jaw tightens.

“I’m not going to tell you that you’ll get over it. That it’ll be easy. That everything will be ok. It’s not.” Finn’s voice cracks. “They're dead."

Cor nods, silent.

Finn closes his eyes against a sudden whirl of ash, feels it stick to his skin. “You’re talking to the man who helped take down Starkiller,” he rasps, when the wind dies down again. Finn can still feel Poe’s shoulder near his, the breeze from the lake, the ache in his back. “I still dream about it.” He looks down at his hands, closes them into fists.

“But.” Finn looks up at her again. “I’ve also helped two thousand and seventy-four former Stormtroopers free themselves. It—doesn’t make up for it. Never will. But.” His shoulders rise, fall. “It’s something. To hold onto.”

Cor looks down at her feet, black boots streaked with grey and white. Looks out over the destroyed base, the fires smouldering between slabs of durasteel, the scattered pieces of Stormtrooper armor, the distant figures struggling over the ruins.

She looks back at Finn. “Two thousand and seventy-five,” she says.

He holds out his hand. There’s something on his face that feels vaguely like a smile, or at least an upward trajectory.

She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet.

 

 

 

At last the scanner blinks an alert—someone’s buried below. Between the two of them, and with Cor’s staff as a lever, they manage to lift the duracrete slab high enough to let the survivor crawl out. It’s hard to make out the survivor’s features beneath the mask of dust and spattered blood. One of her arms dangles by her side, broken. Finn helps her stand, hands her his waterpak.

“LT-7584?” Cor asks, tilting her head to see her better. The survivor nods. “Did anyone else—”

“No.” LT-7584 shakes her head. “The roof collapsed. I sheltered under the console. They—” She coughs, takes another gulp of the water, hands it back to Finn. “They’re all—” She stops.

Cor nods. Reaches out, touches LT-7584’s shoulder. Nods toward the _Falcon,_ the slowly growing crowd of survivors.

LT-7584 raises a fist to salute—stops. Looks at Finn, at Cor. Raises her hand to her chest instead, in a Resistance salute. Pivots on her heel, starts marching down over the rubble towards the _Falcon._

Finn looks at Cor. She looks back at him. She’s not smiling, but—beneath the transparent curves of the exomask, in the dust-streaked lines of her long face, the edge of grief is the tiniest bit softer now.

Cor nods at Finn. They climb on.

 

 

 

Ten hours later, everyone is staggering with fatigue. They’ve dug up what feels like half the base to reach the few survivors, who now sit in the _Falcon_ 's shadow, drinking water, waiting for Luke to verify their loyalty and the sole Resistance medic who came with Nerro’s team to patch them up.

Finn sits with Nerro and Cor, sharing a waterpak and a ration bar. They’ll have to ration supplies until they get back to the base, and first priority goes to the wounded. “Hux,” he says.

Nerro shakes her head. “Haven’t found his body yet. Might never. The cell blocks took the brunt of the bombings.”

Finn leans his head in his hands, rubs his temples against a growing headache. “So,” he says.

“Yup,” Nerro agrees.

“He looked really good in that rig,” Finn sighs.

Cor snorts. “He did.” The briefest of smiles passes over her long features. “He really did.”

“Think he’s back on his ship?” Finn asks.

Cor shrugs. “Probably. We killed a few of the Knights of Ren, but the rest fled. They could have come back and spirited him away before the bombing began.”

Nerro shrugs. “He’s alive until we see his body.”

“Should have killed him while we had the chance,” Cor mutters.

“Why didn’t you?” Finn asks.

“Justice,” Cor says. The word sounds like a prayer on her lips.

“We’ll get him again.” Finn’s hands clench into fists.

“This time we’ll kill him,” Cor says. The smile is long gone from her face.

 

 

 

“Have you commed the base yet?” Finn asks Nerro.

She looks up at him. She’s been with the Resistance for five years now, but she’s spent most of those years in the control room. Long enough to get inured to the sound of pilots and soldiers cut-off screams. To the sight of pilots’ signal lights winking out on her dash. To reports of losses and casualties and atrocities. But—to be in this hell, here, to smell death, to feel ashes in one’s hair and block out the thought that it could be from—from—

“Before we left the rendezvous.” Nerro looks down at her hands. “Just to tell them. What happened. Not since then. Organa said to stay. Find the survivors. Bring them back to the base.”

“We need to,” Finn says. He folds the empty wrapper into a pocket and straps his exomask back on.

“You have a working comm,” Cor says. She’s still staring out across the ruins, as though more survivors will rise up from beneath the wreckage. The bloodstain across her chest— _LN-3927,_ she said, and that’s all—is nearly invisible against the stiff black fabric, but once noticed, it’s impossible to unsee.

Nerro looks at her, tilts her head. “Yes,” she says. “We do.”

“I want to send a flash-comm.” Cor’s hand tightens around the empty waterpak until it crumples like a shriveled lung. “Show everyone—what they did. Tell them what happened.”

“Don’t you think that would make the troopers afraid to rebel?” Nerro leans forward, props her chin on her hand. “In case something like this happens to them.”

Cor shakes her head. “They need to know. That the First Order has so little regard for life that it is willing to destroy its own people, even those who are loyal. That if we are ever going to gain our freedom, we must do it _now,_ and together, so that they have no chance to retaliate.”

Nerro considers this. Nods. “Then let’s make it happen.”

 

 

 

Nerro holds up five fingers, slowly folds them down, one by one. When she folds down the last one, she signals to the comm-tech holding the holocam and nods at Lieutenant Cor.

“My comrades.” Cor’s voice still scrapes in her throat, damaged by smoke. Finn’s given up on urging her to accept medical treatment. “I am Lieutenant Cor, formerly CR-4538. One week ago, my comrades and I rose up for our freedom. We fought for the right to have names, and rights, and peace. We won. We captured General Hux.” Her lips curl up in a feral snarl. “We were ready to join the Resistance.”

She pulls in a deep breath. “And then they bombed us.” The holocam pans across the scene, the fires, the melting durasteel, the smoking craters, then lands back on Cor. She stares straight into it. “For rebelling. To set an example to you all. To keep you trapped at their feet. But—comrades. My comrades!”

Cor’s eyes are alight, red-rimmed and burning. “They were not killed by the First Order. They were killed by Stormtroopers. _Stormtroopers_ flew those bombers. _Stormtroopers_ pressed the triggers. Your officers have power only when you obey. So—” Her voice cracks. “Resist. Refuse. _Rise up!”_ Her hands fly into the air, impassioned.

“It will never be enough,” she rasps, “to defect one by one. Not even squadron by squadron. They will not stop until we are _all_ obedient. Or dead. So _we_ can’t stop, either. We _all_ need to rise up against them. Now. Together. _Together!_ That is the only way we will ever be free. My comrades—”

Cor dips her head, raises it again. “One week ago. There were ten thousand Stormtroopers stationed on Moonreach Base. Now there are two hundred and twelve survivors. Our people died with numbers. Instead of names. My comrades.” She reaches toward the cam, imploring. “Don’t let their deaths go to waste. Freedom will not wait for us. The time has come to rise up. _All_ of us. Now. Together. _Rise up.”_ Cor bares her teeth. “ _RISE UP!”_

Nerro raises a finger. The holocam stops recording. Cor stares at it, breathless, hands clenched into fists.

Nerro holds out her arms. Cor looks at her.

The holocam tech folds the camera away. The transcriber makes a final note in his datapad, confers with an intel tech. The wind whips up again—they all cover their eyes beneath a sudden flurry of hot ash. Luke finishes interrogating the last survivor, claps a hand on her shoulder, and ushers her up into the overcrowded shuttle. As the Freedom Squadron files back to their X-wings, slow and solemn, Quelni takes Ajib’s hand.

Cor steps into Nerro’s arms and lowers her head to her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, deep breath. Here's a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and a box of tissues, if you need them. Hugs always available in the comments. 
> 
> <3 you all.
> 
> (facecast for Cor: [Adelayo Adedayo](http://www.identityschoolofacting.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/tumblr_mf7vjeBmg71rsiv4no1_1280.jpg))


	22. armed and dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: In Which Shit Gets Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****************************************************  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Ogni contrada è patria del ribelle…_  
>  _nella notte lo guidano le stelle_  
>  _forte il cuore e il braccio nel colpir._
> 
> Every street is home to the rebel…  
> the stars guide him through the night,  
> strong his heart and his arm when they strike.
> 
> —[Fischia Il Vento](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9V71oaCKyI)
> 
>  
> 
> ****************************************************
> 
> ***TW: canon-typical battle scenes, minor character death (very minor character in this series; may be considered a major character in some other fanfics)

They’ve gathered in the situation room again to greet the incoming star destroyers. With one minute remaining until the ships arrive, the officers chat quietly amongst themselves. Poe’s been distracted for hours now with worry for Finn, given Nerro’s report from Moonreach. To take his mind off it so he can focus on his duties once the meeting starts, Poe ribs Snap about the miniature pittin he and Zari adopted, which is starting to become the terror of the base. Snap nods, very seriously, and then points out the fuzz of pittin hairs still sticking to Poe’s elbow. Poe clears his throat and straightens to attention, trying to regain his dignity as Commander. It doesn’t work very well.

When two massive shapes hove into view on the translucent display, the base’s proximity alert blares automatically. Tabala Zo immediately shuts it off.

Kylo’s given them the codes to reach the comms on both ships. Leia opens a line now to both at once with a broad smile. “Greetings, _Ultimatum_ and _Vengeance._ Glad you—”

“They’ve opened fire!” Connix shouts, switching the viewer to show the destroyers orbiting far above the base. Before the words are fully out of her mouth, there’s a tremendous _crash_ and the room shakes slightly.

“No.” Kylo’s half out of his seat, stricken. “No! I ordered them to _join_ the Resistance! Not to attack. This is not—” He looks around the room, suddenly staring into the business ends of half the blasters in the room. “I didn’t do this.” He turns to Leia, claws at his hair. “I swear to you.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t do this!”

“He’s telling the truth!” Rey snaps. She shoves to her feet and stands by his side, one hand on her saber.

“Stand _down,_ ” Leia growls at the officers aiming at Kylo. “We will settle the question of who did this later. Right now, we need to fight back and get out of here. Connix! Execute evacuation plan Cresh. Commander Dameron.”

Poe’s already on the balls of his feet, waiting for the order.

“Mobilize the fleet. I will brief you on the landing bay.”

Poe salutes. “Yes, General!” The officers part before him as he races out of the room towards the hangar.

Kylo turns to Leia, desperate. “Let me talk them down! Please.”

Leia’s lips flatten into a hard line. She nods. “You may try. We will be here, listening.”

Kylo lunges toward the comm and presses in a rapid series of codes to connect their comm to the _Vengeance_. “Mitaka? Mitaka! Hold your fire! I ordered you to join the Resistance!”

“You did indeed.” The voice is staticky with a secondary transfer—it’s not coming from the ships above the base. “Unfortunately,” it continues—light, dry, unruffled— “I’m not Mitaka.”

Kylo stares at the comm, face cut into harsh lines. “I will kill you.”

“Go ahead and try.” The line cuts out. Another explosion rocks the base.

Leia’s jaw tightens. “So he did survive the bombings on Moonreach.”

Kylo nods, mute.

“Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t survive this one,” Leia says.

“The Knights of Ren will be with him,” Kylo says. “Coming. For.”

“Too much of a risk to fight them.” Leia waves a hand to cut Rey off before she can speak. “You will evacuate,” she orders them both. “We all will.” She looks up at the waiting officers. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

The proximity alert screams again as they’re running to the hangar. “They’re here,” Kylo says, as though Rey can’t feel the sudden spike of Dark energy in the skies above them. “The knights.” Their shuttle must have dropped straight out of hyperspace above the base, in a Solo-style move that makes Rey’s gut twist with a spark of grief.

She skids to a halt and looks behind her. Kylo’s already swerved down the hallway towards the forest behind the base. “Kylo!” she snaps. “What—”

“They just landed. You can feel them, can’t you?” His saber is already in his hand.

“Yes, but—” Rey runs after him. “We need to evacuate! What are you doing?”

“Protecting the base from them.”

“The base is evacuating too!” she shouts, skidding around a corner after him. “In a few minutes, there’ll be no one to protect!”

“Who do you think is on the last shuttle?” He orders a set of blast doors to open before them. “I doubt things have changed that much since I left.”

Rey’s steps falter for a moment before speeding to catch up with him. “Two lightsabers against six,” she says.

“Better than six against none.”

The ridged grip of Rey’s lightsaber presses sharp lines into her palm.

 

 

 

Rey’s swerving to the left even before she sees Kylo doing the same. The sudden flare of Darkness is impossible to miss. Around another corner, and then they can hear footsteps, thundering closer.

Around another corner, and they’re drawing their sabers before they even see the dark-robed sextet. The hum of plasma reverberates between the duracrete walls of the bunker hallway.

“So,” Kylo says. “Who strikes first?”

 

 

 

On the way to the hangar, Poe flicks his comm open. “All starfighter pilots!” he shouts. “Report for action. We are under attack.” Hangar lockers—he shoves his legs into his flightsuit, tucks his helmet under his arm, and runs out to the hangar, zipping the flightsuit up as he goes.

Mech droids are already taxiing every X-wing in the fleet out to the open air of the landing bay. The duracrete echoes with the shrill chatter of droids, the pounding of boots, the clatter of tools, the frenzied din of pilots and techs shouting over each other.

“BB-8!” Poe calls, sliding to a halt before his beloved X-wing. “Can you start up _Black One_ for me and run the pre-flight checks? Tell the other astros to do the same for their pilots.”

[AFFIRMATIVE!] BB-8 rolls beneath the X-wing and rappels up into his home behind the cockpit.

His comm crackles to life. “Commander.”

“Yes, General.”

“The two Interdictors are in orbit, as you saw. They’ll each have their own fleet of TIEs. Your orders are to first destroy both Interdictors’ gravity well projectors, to allow the transports to leave. Second, protect the transports leaving the base. In order to do so—”

“Bring them all down. Interdictors and TIEs.”

“Well.” Leia’s voice modulates into a grim smile. “Do your best, Dameron.”

“I will, General. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.” She cuts the comm line.

“Starfighters!” Poe hops onto an overturned crate to address his pilots. They gather around him, securing life support boxes and zipping flightsuits and checking helmet comms. “We’re going to neuter the two Interdictors, escort the transports to safety, and shoot down everything we can. Blue: you’re on the _Vengeance_ ’s gravity well projectors. Dagger: you’ve got the _Ultimatum’_ s. Red: we’re going to take down the TIEs and cover their sixes. Stiletto, still best in sub-atmo?”

Karé salutes with a feral grin.

“Guard the base against any TIEs that break through. Each squadron, once you finish your objective, help out the next. Any questions?”

Silence.

“Let’s do this.”

The pilots salute and scatter to their ships. Poe jumps off the crate, swings up the ladder to _Black One,_ slides into the seat, and settles his helmet onto his head. The cockpit closes around him, secure and deadly. His dash is already alight and ready for takeoff. Contact, ignition, atmo. Within seconds, Red Squadron’s aloft behind him, raring to take down the TIEs. Dagger and Blue are hot on their six, eager for blood.

“Red Squadron,” Poe orders. “All wings, report in.”

One by one, they state their callsigns as they race up through the clouds and roar towards the open sky. Atmospheric shields, flash of red heat—then they’re bursting out into the endless reaches of space.

Two destroyers lurk above them, dotted with the ominous bulges of gravity well projectors. Out of the corner of his eye, Poe can see Blue racing toward the destroyers, firing with all the heat they’ve got. Only the corner of his eye, though: the TIEs are already screaming towards them, surrounding them in a haze of durasteel bloodgnats.

And that’s when everything—just—settles into place. Poe fires, turns, fires, jinks, fires, ducks, fires, spirals, fires, rolls, and fires again. His pilots are behind him, above him, around him, shouting at each other, catching fire, watching sixes. The echoes of laserfire are muted through his helmet comm, but unmistakable, especially as first Red Two, then Red Seven explode into stardust. They’re still outnumbered, and badly. A few TIEs get through their cover and rip into Dagger and Blue, culling pilots from the fight. The destroyers’ own cannons blast away, tearing holes in their defenses.

Poe grits his teeth and fights on, playing chicken with a pair of TIEs until they smash into each other, head-on. Slowly but surely, they halve the swarm. A chorus of cheers rises up from Blue as they crack through their destroyer’s shields and blast the gravity well projectors, rocking the destroyer. Dagger roars in victory not long after.

“Send out the transports!” Poe shouts into his comm. “We’re—”

“Poe, are you seeing this?” Jess’ voice comes through his comm, tense and distracted as they dodge the cannon blasts. “The bombers.”

“What?”

“Fleet of bombers. Coming out of the starboard hangar, second destroyer.”

 _Shit._ “Blue,” Poe says, low and steady. “Disable the cannons on both of the destroyers. Dagger, take out as many bombers as you can before they breach atmo, then follow them down and keep shooting. Red, we’re going to keep clearing the air up here until all the TIEs are gone. Stiletto!” He swerves, fires on an approaching TIE, levels out again. “Fleet of bombers headed your way. Take them down.”

A chorus of _copy that_ , and they’re all spiraling into position, armed and dangerous.

 

 

 

Before even Rey realizes it, they’re braced against each other, back to back. Kylo’s breath, over her shoulder, is chopped up by each blow he strikes. Hers is slow, calm, centered. They circle in place, red and blue, fighting the six whirling red blades.

“Join us,” she urges the Knights. “Use both sides of the Force. Snoke is gone, you can free yourselves now, you can—”

 _Don’t bother_ , Kylo says. _They’re not even listening._

Rey can feel the surge of his bloodlust behind her. _Center yourself,_ she orders Kylo, parrying a blow to her shoulder and nicking the edge of one knight’s mask before he ducks out of the way of her blow. _Don’t let yourself lose control._

In response, he blocks a lunging strike headed for her shoulder. The base shudders around them—an aerial strike, not far from their hallway. Rey feels Leia’s surge of angerfeardetermination from the distant control room. Kylo must feel it as well, because the tumult of emotions in his Force-signature sharpen to a single honed edge: _protect at all costs._ It’s entirely different from her cool-minded focus, it’s—

Dark _and_ Light, together. Grounded, in his desire to protect Leia, to try this Dark-Light scheme until it kills him. With it, he’s twice as strong as before, whirling blur of red and press of Force. Rey falters, tries to regain her rhythm. Her own mind is silent, blank, numb. As always. Numbness kept her alive on Jakku. It will keep them all alive now. It’s fine. She’s fine. She fights. And fights on. The six lightsabers and their masked wielders press in closer, score a hot slash down the outside of her arm.

 _Rey,_ Kylo says.

 _I can do this,_ she says, but there’s no power to her words. She lunges forward, parries a slicing blow that nearly separates her elbow from her arm. Stumbles back beneath a triple-ended assault.

 _Leap,_ he says _. Of faith._

Slowly, tentatively, heart in her mouth, Rey reaches out toward the Dark side. Opens up a tiny sliver of herself. There. Down there. She can see them, very faintly. There’s the fear she will not listen to, the anger she discards, the exhaustion that shadows each step. Their throbbing heat fights her tight grasp, needing to break free, to consume, to control.

No. _No._ She is in charge of this. She can do this. She will do this.

Rey yanks each one down and knots them all tightly to her core. She grabs the live edges in the bare palms of her hands and hurls them at the Knights. They burn her skin, but every blow reverberates down through her body, pulling tightly to her center. In her own self, there’s a home for them all. Dark. Light. Together. One. Force.

For the first time, she’s _whole_ , in a way that she never knew she could be. _Whole_ , and strong, and full of fire.

She’s laughing, burning brightly, set aflame. Kylo roars in victory at her back. A knight goes down beneath her blade. A life that could have been turned, could have been made whole. But the galaxy needs the Resistance. And Rey has made her choice. Found her power. A second knight staggers back before Kylo, falls. A fierce slash of blue—the third falls, the fourth stumbles. Kylo’s blade catches across the knight’s mask, and the fourth knight goes down and stays down. The fifth falls across him, severed and still. In unspoken agreement, they turn on the sixth, and then the hallway is silent again.

Rey turns to Kylo. He stares at her. _Kylo,_ she says, still shaking.

 _You did it._ His pulse throbs in the scar across his face.

“I feel it, now,” she croaks. “All of it. A lifetime of pain—of—”

He nods.

She claws her hands back through her tightly braided hair. “It’s going to kill me.”

He tips his head back and laughs, hoarse. “Welcome to the Dark side, Rey. I knew you had it in you. Now you know where I get the—what did you call it? Drama?”

Rey reaches out a hand to him, unsteady on her feet. He takes it. “Let’s go,” he says.

 _Kylo,_ she says again.

He looks at her. Looks her in the eye, for the first time. _Rey,_ he says. _You’re still yourself?_

She closes her eyes. Her center is still there, bright and burning. No longer isolated—fiery tendrils reach out from it now, down every vein. “I am,” she rasps. Takes a breath. Grips her saber. “I am.” She turns down the hallway towards the hangar, aching and soaring in equal measure. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

 

 

By the time Rey and Kylo reach the hangar, the base is constantly shaking under the force of the bombardment. They’ve had to change direction twice already to avoid collapsed hallways. But at least Rey can’t feel anyone trapped beneath the rubble—not yet, at least.

Most of the transports are already in the air—the fleet must have been successful in neutering the destroyers. Only Leia, the admirals, and the flight control techs, directing the pilots, are still on the base. The second-to-last transport is loading now, full of officers and ground control techs. It lifts off seconds after Rey and Kylo clamber aboard.

All the gunner positions are filled, but one. Rey takes it. Kylo sits in the hold and directs the non-Force-using gunners from what he can feel of the TIEs around them. They’re reluctant to take orders from him at first, but after a snap from Rey and a near-miss that grazes the side of the transport, they listen.

Rey breathes a sigh of relief when Leia’s transport lifts off soon after them. The destroyers are still aloft above the planet, but the TIEs are mostly destroyed and the gravity well projectors have been eliminated, so they’ll be free to jump as soon as they breach atmo.

 

 

 

Poe wings left, right, then fires. Another TIE down, and another. One by one, each TIE bursts into flame, leaving only a scattering of space debris, until the vacuum of space is finally cleared of the durasteel gnats. “Red!” Poe shouts. “Good work! Down to the base! Let’s nab these bombers.” He dives back beneath atmo, followed by the remnants of his squadron.

“On your six.” Jess peels away after him, along with the surviving members of Dagger. “Ready to sweep.”

The bombers have surprisingly strong ray shields for First Order vessels. They blast down through the clouds toward the base, dropping a deadly stream of concussion missiles in their wake. Poe ducks and dodges, shoots the missiles out of the air, attacks the shields to slowly weaken the bombers until they can be shot down.  

Transport after transport leaves safely— _nope, not that one, shit shit shit NO!_ —Poe wrenches his eyes from the burst of fire as the transport explodes above the base. But the rest of the transports breach atmo, ready to escape into hyperspace as soon as they get into their lane. Finally the second-to-last transport’s in the air, then—

Poe wheels to find a bomber racing at full speed towards the very last transport to leave the base. Its belly is already opening up, stretching out a clawed rack of concussion missiles. That’s Leia, in the last transport. It must be. No time to shoot the bomber down. _NO._

But the bombers only have ray shields. Nothing to protect them from projectiles.

Sometimes you have to make a hard decision fast.

“I’m going to fly into it,” Poe says.

 _“What?”_ Jess shouts. “Dameron, don’t—”

“Only way to stop them. Save the general. No time to take the shields down.” He swerves into a tight lag roll to angle himself into position.

“Then I’m coming with you.” Jess peels off the main thrust of the Resistance starfighters and aims at the opposite side of the bomber. “That way each of us has a half-chance of surviving.”

“Pava—”

“No time to argue!” Jess guns her engines straight at the bomber’s port side. “Let’s take this banthafucker _down_.”

“Right.” Poe aims to starboard and jams down on the throttle, full speed ahead. “Thanks, Jess. See you on the flip side.” He has time to hear Jess’ shuddering inhale just before the deafening _crunch_ of the collision.

The impact knocks the breath out of him, kicks him in the chest like a furious bantha. The bomber spins beneath their attack, both engine clusters and the starboard wings destroyed. In his scopes, Poe sees it suddenly stall, then plummet towards the planet’s surface. The transport dodges its falling mass, then screams up toward atmo at top speed.

He has time for no more than a glimpse out of his cockpit, though—his own dash is screaming at him. Port S-foils crumpled into a useless heap, port engine cluster burning up, port hull scraped down to the bare minimum. Poe grabs the yoke and pulls up, up, _up,_ aiming for a nonfatal crash landing. With only one working side of his ship, however, the controls are close to useless. He manages to get _Black One_ into a better angle, but he’s falling _fast fast fast too fast_ and it’s all he can do to stop it from corkscrewing into a death spiral.

“BB-8,” he says. “Buddy.”

The ground approaches with terrifying speed. No room to eject. Poe pulls up until the yoke simply breaks off in his hand. He stares at it for one frozen moment until _crunch_.

 

 

 

There’s a sudden cacophony of shouting in the hold. Rey tunes it out, intent on shooting. It’s only when they’ve finally breached atmo and are racing past the ruined Interdictors, angling towards their hyperspace lane, that she realizes:

Kylo is no longer aboard.

Rey scrambles up out of the gunner’s chair and into the main hold. Kylo’s Force-signature is gone completely from the ship, but he’s not dead—she can tell that much, at least.

“Where’s Kylo?” she shouts at the fighters in the hold.

They look at each other, shake their heads. “He ran—” one starts.

“Escape pod.” The ground tech’s lekkus point towards the missing pod in the side of the hold. “He jumped ship just before we broke atmo. I have no idea why. He shoved us back with the Force when we tried to stop him.”

 _“What?”_ Rey races to the viewport just in time to see one last glimpse of the planet, swirling white and blue and green, far below them. The destroyers cut twin dark blades below them as well them, surrounded by darting X-wings. And then everything blurs, and stretches, and leaps into hyperspace.

_Too late._

 

 

 

Kylo slows the escape pod’s descent with the Force, just enough to crash it onto the planet’s surface without smashing himself along with it. The moment he crawls out of the cracked-open pod, he ducks and rolls to avoid another bomb, then pushes to his feet. Looks around, across the burning landscape. Settles his torn cloak around his shoulders. And runs.

 

 

 

Towards the end of their long trip through hyperspace, Finn’s mostly lost the urge to scream or punch something.

Mostly.

But his hair is still covered in ashes. His flightsuit still smells like smoke and worse. Cor’s words still ring in his ears. He just wants to drop down from _Freedom One_ and fall into Poe’s arms. Feel safe again. Tell Rey what happened. Feel the calm in her bones spread to his.

And then, with Nerro—and Cor—finalize a plan to take down the First Order. For good.

When they drop out of hyper, it takes him a moment to believe the sight in front of him. A cluster of X-wings, spinning and rolling. A transport. Two star destroyers. No, wait—

A wave of energy ripples and shakes behind his squadron’s ships. “GO!” Finn roars. He guns his engines, flees—they just barely make it out of range before a third Interdictor hoves into view, straight out of hyperspace. _Shit._

“Free One to Black Leader,” Finn snaps into his comm. “Where do you want us?”

Snap’s voice answers him. “Join Dagger and Stiletto against the Interdictor. Shields, then grav projectors. We’ll finish disabling the destroyers’ cannons.”

Finn automatically wheels into position, followed by his squadron in a daggerpoint formation. He’s barreling towards the TIEs, ready to do battle, but—but— “Snap,” Finn croaks. “Is—is he—”

“I don’t know,” is all Snap says.

_POE._

Finn shoves his grief down beneath his seat. He can’t, now. Not right now. Now he needs to shoot. Shoot, and win.

Within seconds, they’re within firing range of the Interdictor. A tumult of laser fire blasts out from each X-wing, sparking against the Interdictor’s shield generators. Again. And again. The shields waver, then flicker, nearly out. Seconds before the shields dissolve entirely, however, their comms crackle with an interference signal.

“CEASE FIRE! We surrender, repeat, we surrender, hold your fire!” An explosion echoes through the connection, followed by a tumult of shouting. “We surrender to the Resistance. Don’t shoot us down. We surrender.”

A cacophony of shock rattles through the Resistance’s comms. Finn’s voice cuts above them all. “What the fuck,” he rasps. “What the absolute fuck.”

“I hear you have a new name now,” she says.

“I do,” Finn says. “You’d better use it.”

“Well,” she says. “You’d better not throw me down any more trash compactors.”

“Only if you deserve it.” He shakes his head, dizzy with disbelief. The voice is smoother, cleaner, without the helmet’s vocalizer. But it’s unmistakably Phasma, cool as durasteel and twice as strong. At last, Finn croaks into his comm, “Why the fuck should we trust you?”

“Why have you trusted any other defectors? We came to join the Resistance. We received flash-comms from a Lieutenant Cor, survivor of Moonreach, telling us to mutiny. We mutinied. Came here, when we heard of the attack on the base. We were going to help, but we seem to be too late to be of much use now.”

“Send a delegation,” Finn orders at last. “No more than four. Dock with the _Falcon_ and come aboard. We’ll talk there.”

 

 

 

The first aboard is Phasma, as imposingly chrome as ever.  She removes her helmet upon stepping through the airlock, revealing a shock of blonde hair and a grim-set mouth. Next is the pilot of their shuttle, still helmeted in black. Next are—

Finn grabs the back of the seat before him. Hux stumbles into the hold, wrists cuffed behind him, a shock collar around his neck. uncapped red hair in disarray around his head. At his heels, aiming a blaster at his heart, is a helmetless Stormtrooper.

“Come sit,” Luke says, voice soft as ever. Phasma deigns to follow him to a pair of seats around the _Falcon_ ’s low table. She sits straight-backed, eyes intent on Luke’s as she answers each question. Finn watches, fascinated, as her hands start to rise to match her words, as her mouth eases into the faintest hint of relaxation.

“So,” Phasma says at last, with a nod back towards Hux. “I assume you’ll space him before we go to the new base?”

“No.” Finn meets her eyes with cool poise. “We’re going to give him a proper trial.”

“What if someone frees him again?” Cor turns on Finn, livid.

“ _This_ is what we’re fighting for, Cor. Justice. You—”

A blaster shot echoes across the hold. They all whirl—

Hux falls back against the bulkhead, eyes wide and staring. His knees buckle. He crumples to the floor of the hold, eyes blank.

The TIE pilot drops his tiny holdout blaster and sinks to his knees, hands raised above his head.

“Helmet,” Finn says, ears ringing with a sudden suspicion— “Off.”

The pilot looks up at him. Unclasps his helmet. Bows his head.

“What,” Finn says. “The fuck.” Nerro’s already got a blaster aimed at his head, short spike of dark hair, almond eyes, strong brows.

“I’m sorry.” Tyrik’s voice breaks. “My captain. I’m so sorry.”

Finn steps closer. Tyrik’s eyes are fixed on the floor before him. Hands clasped in his lap, shoulders drawn inward, head bowed.

“I never meant to betray you. I didn’t think I had a choice.” His words are raspy, half-choked. “I’m sorry. You were. The first. To—” He clears his throat roughly. “Treat me. Like a person. It killed me. To betray—” He shakes his head. “They killed my squadron,” he bursts out, raw. “On Moonreach. Everyone. They’re gone. I can’t—” His mouth opens, closes. “Hux. Ruined—everything. He needed to die. If you want. To space me. Too. I would understand.”

Finn stares down at him in utter silence. “Luke.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Luke says, very soft.

“I treated you like a person.” Finn stares down at Tyrik. “Because I know what it means. To be part of a group that knows you. Respects you. Trusts you. And I expected the same in return.”

The lines of Tyrik’s face twist and snag. He stares at the floor of the hold. He grips one hand with the other, hard, knuckles pale.

Finn reaches down to the pilot. Touches the small scar on the back of his neck. “You broke free,” he says. “Again.”

Tyrik’s eyes flash up, then down. “Yes,” he says. “They tried. But the reconditioning—it didn’t take. Not this time. I kept myself. Or.” His shoulders shift up, down. “I tried, at least.”

There’s an acute exhaustion in his posture, a defeated resignation. The puckered line where the reconditioning probe was embedded is still a raw, red mark against the dark gold of his skin.

“You know he’s the one who led the uprising.” Phasma crooks an arm over the back of her chair and regards them both with an icy blue stare. “On the _Subjugator_. When we received the flash-comms from Moonreach, we began to make plans to mutiny. Found, very quickly, that there was already an underground rebellion brewing, centered around TR-3672.”

“Tyrik,” Finn says. “His name is Tyrik.”

Tyrik’s eyes flash up to Finn’s. Wide, wild, white-rimmed. Finn holds his stare, carbonite-jawed.

When Tyrik’s eyes fall at last, his back is straight, shoulders almost square. “If you hold a trial.” He swallows. “Will you. Use my name.”

Finn drops to a crouch before Tyrik. “Yes. We will.”

Tyrik’s head drops. “Thank you,” he rasps.

Finn stands. Looks at Cor. “You’d like to space Hux’s body.”

She nods, jaw clenched.

“Then do so.” Finn steps back as Cor flings Hux’s body over her shoulder. One of the Resistance’s intel techs, a former First Order officer, walks before her to open the airlock and send Hux out into the endless vacuum of space. _Where he belongs,_ Finn thinks to himself, with a vicious surge of satisfaction. Looking around the hold, he’s not the only one who feels the same.

Tyrik’s still kneeling, face blank. Ready for death. “Cuff him, please.” Finn nods at one of the fighters aboard the _Falcon_. “We’ll hold a trial when we can. Until then.” He turns back to Phasma. “You’re too late for the battle—”

“Pity,” she says, with a flash of white teeth.

“And Luke will need interrogate your people before we allow them into the Resistance. So. Stay up here. Major—” Finn clears his throat. “Acting Commander Wexley will not hesitate to attack. At the first sign of violence from your side. We will search the base for survivors, then escort you to the new base site.”

Phasma inclines her head with regal grace. “I accept your terms. Finn.”

“Major Finn, actually.” Finn’s lips twitch.

“What?” Phasma snaps.

“I outrank you,” Finn says, with the sweetest of smiles.


	23. trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************
> 
>  
> 
> And I didn't understand  
> When you reached out to take my hand  
> And if you have something to say  
> You'd better say it now
> 
> _—Say It To Me Now, from Once_
> 
>  
> 
> ********************************************
> 
> ***TW: threat of amputation, semi-graphic depictions of injuries, bombings.

Poe blinks. There is a violent ringing sound in his ears, like a badly repaired comm. For a moment he’s terrified that his inner ear has been damaged, destroying his ability to fly—but when he blinks again, shakes his head, and looks around, nothing is spinning, so he’s probably ok. Shaking was not a great idea for his head, but not a terrible one, either. His helmet probably saved him from the worst of the impact. But _fuck,_ his ribs _. Shit,_ that hurts. Hurts like a banthafucker. Cracked or broken or Force knows what—what—he can’t quite pull in a full breath. Great. What else is new? Something is burning. That’s new. And not good. “BB-8?” he calls, shaky.

The silence stretches on far too long—he closes his eyes—finally, a faint response. [STILL FUNCTIONAL. POE OK?]

“Yeah. Yeah, BB. I’m ok. Can you—no, don’t bother with a damage readout.” Now that the dust is clearing, Poe can see that there’s no way _Black One_ will be able to get off the ground again. Short of a total chassis rehaul, at least—which is not the type of repair job one does in the midst of battle. _Black One’_ s crashed onto its port side, one set of S-foils sticking out into the air above Poe’s head, the other set crumpled into the ground.

Not good.

Poe takes a moment to bang on his comm unit, trying to get it to respond. No luck. Also not good. But BB-8’s ok. That’s good. That’s really good. But something is still burning, and it smells faintly like roasted nerf, and that’s really, _really_ not good.

Out. He has to get out. Poe shakes his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes and tries to focus. Harness. Remove harness. His right hand fumbles at the straps. His left hand won’t move. Deep breath. Poe slides his eyes over to assess the damage.

The port side of his beloved ship has been smashed into jagged folds of durasteel, overlapping each other and welded in place. Welded, in fact, straight over his left arm. _Oh_ , Poe thinks, dazed _._ That’s not good. His arm doesn’t even hurt right now. That’s _really_ not good, although he’s grateful nonetheless. He tries to wiggle his fingers—no response. He can move his shoulder slightly, but his arm is solidly pinned.  

Shit.

Poe braces his legs against the control panel, grits his teeth, and _yanks_ with all his strength—no good. Pulls again, struggles, nearly wrenches his shoulder out of its socket, and falls back against his seat, gasping for air, clenching his teeth against excruciating pain from both his arm and his ribs.

Another explosion rocks the ground to his right. Closer. They’re getting closer. He has to get out. He can’t get out. He’s trapped. He’s trapped again. This time with added explosions, a crushed arm, and a burning ship. Ship will become its own explosion once the engines ignite. He has to get out. Now. There are no other options.

_Shit._

Poe swallows. With his shaking right hand, he pulls a chunk of his flight suit up to his mouth and bites down hard. He draws his vibroblade from his flight suit’s belt, drags in a deep breath, and presses the knife just below his shoulder, above the ragged metal sheath that now covers his left arm. Closes his eyes and begins to slice down and there’s a sharp line of pain beneath the blade and—

_POE_

Poe jolts in his seat, knife slipping in the shallow gash across his arm. It’s Ren. Ren is in his head. He’s trapped in his fucking ship and about to amputate his own fucking arm or get blown up or both and this is what the universe gives him for comfort?

His cockpit opens. Poe’s head jerks up. Kylo’s standing on _Black One_ ’s nose, looking like the avenging Darksider he is—face smudged with soot, dark cloak torn to shreds, hair sticking out madly in all directions. Poe shifts the knife in his hand to a fighting grip, trying to keep from passing out long enough to defend himself before he returns to cutting off his own fucking arm. Kylo snorts and says something. Poe shakes his head, ears still ringing.

“Hold still,” Ren shouts. “And try not to panic. You may want to close your eyes for this part.” He stretches a hand down towards him.

That’s ok, Poe doesn’t need to breathe. He can’t take his eyes off the glove, leather glove, black leather, _with everything that is going to shit around his ears why does the fucking glove still matter_ —

There’s a wrenching _screech_ so loud it penetrates even his deafened ears. Poe’s eyes flick to the left—and he watches, transfixed, as durasteel rips apart in slow, violent surges. Six agonizing breaths later, his arm is free. Pain returns in a rush, scorching and overwhelming. Apparently the heat of the crash managed to burn through his flight suit in a couple of places and straight on down through a few layers of skin. Also, he still can’t move his arm. So, broken. Probably in more than one place, with the variety of blinding pains shooting up through his shoulder. Focus. _Focus_ , banthafucker. No time for shock. Nope. Nope. Going to be ok. Have to be ok.

“Come on!” Ren shouts. “We need to get out of here.” Ren reaches his hand down again. Poe stares at it. It takes his dazed brain a long moment to realize he’s supposed to grab it.

“Why are you helping me?” Poe manages at last, disbelieving, trying to keep shock at bay a few moments longer.

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” Kylo asks, very dry.  

“You hate me,” Poe rasps.

“Look, would it make you feel better if I said I just need a pilot? You have to get out of there. Come on.”

If this is a trap—but he’s already in a trap. Fuck it. Poe reaches up with his still-working hand, shaking far more than he’d like to admit. Kylo’s glove feels _bizarre_ in his hand, so _wrong_ , the leather spectre of his nightmares pulling him to his feet in the ruined cockpit. Kylo jumps down out of the wreckage and looks back up to Poe, waiting. _Black One_ ’s side is smashed so deeply into the ground that it’s hardly even a jump down, but Poe still stumbles when he hits the ground. The movement jars his entire body— _fuck,_ that hurts. Pain rolls through his body in waves, nauseating and blinding. Kylo catches him and sets him upright. The moment Poe regains his footing, they flinch back from each other.

Another distant explosion, much clearer this time—oh, his hearing’s coming back. That’s good. And he’s no longer trapped. Even better. At this rate, his ship will be back to normal in no time. Right? _Fuck,_ he’s dizzy.

“You’re going into shock,” Kylo is saying. “There’s a hypo of adrenaline in your life support box, right? I can inject it, if you’d like, but I assume you’d prefer to do it yourself.”

“I know there’s a fucking hypo,” Poe mutters, digging for it, trying to stay upright and conscious. The world is flickering a little—ok, maybe more than a little—but flickering is fine. Fireworks. Just fireworks. Poe depresses the plunger into his thigh through his flightsuit, carefully looking away from the needle, then follows it with a painkiller so he can function. He closes his eyes as the drugs take effect. Piece by piece, the world snaps back into place around him as the hypos lend him an exhilarating, if temporary, sense of power.

His left arm dangles by his side, limp. Definitely broken in at least two, probably three, places. Smells like roasted—nope, not thinking about it. There’s still a distant sense of pain, but it’s manageable. He’ll deal with it later. Right now, he needs to leave. They need to leave. Ship. They need to find a ship somewhere.

“Bandage?” Kylo asks.

“What?” Poe coughs.

In answer, Kylo reaches toward the life support box on Poe’s chest. _No no no no no what?_ —Poe realizes the plan, steps back away from Kylo’s hands, and pulls out a roll of bandages. Kylo takes the roll from him and wraps the gauze tight around his arm in a single, rapid movement, pinning it to his side. When he moves Poe’s forearm into position across his stomach, it’s all Poe can do to stay upright, despite the heady sea of painkillers floating through his system. Probably lying down would have been more prudent. But fuck prudent, they need to leave, and they need to leave _now_.

Kylo ties off the bandages and steps back. Poe forces himself to meet the Darksider’s eyes. “Thank you,” he says.

From the flicker of surprise in Kylo’s eyes, this is not something he ever expected to hear. “Oh. Um. You’re welcome.”

Poe nods. Scans the horizon for a plume of black smoke. There are at least six right now, rising from the ruins of the base.

“What are you looking for?” Kylo asks.

“Jess,” Poe says. “I need to rescue her. And then find a ship to leave on.”

Kylo nods. “Then follow me,” he says. Sets off across the base at a run.

Poe follows him, but soon stumbles to a halt. He puts his good hand to his chest, trying to pull in a breath against the excruciating pain.

Kylo whirls back to Poe. “Your ribs,” he says. “I can heal them. So you can run. For now. But I never learned Light side healing, and at any rate, it would take too long. So it will wear off later, and leave you worse than before.”

Poe stares at him. “That,” he says, “does not sound like a good option.”

Kylo shrugs, silent.

Poe straightens carefully. Another explosion shakes the ground beneath their feet. Poe’s head whips in that direction, searching fruitlessly for the carcass of an X-wing. “Do it,” he says. “I have to get Jess out of there. Now.”

Kylo nods. Steps closer. Puts a hand on Poe’s chest. Poe grits his teeth and holds still, chin upraised, hands fisted at his sides. He loses his breath as Kylo starts to work— _holy—holy—fucking—shit—that—hurts._ There’s a faint grinding noise as his ribs shift back into place and knit themselves together—for now, Poe reminds himself. Hopefully _worse_ doesn’t mean _dead._

At last, Kylo drops his hand. Poe drags in a shallow breath, relieved to find his chest in far less pain than before. Kylo’s looking across the base, eyes narrowed against the grit in the air. “There,” he says. “I can feel her. This way.”

The rush of artificial adrenaline from the hypo has finally managed to clear the haze from Poe’s brain. “You don’t have to come. I can find her myself. Why the fuck do you care about rescuing her?”

“Do you want to argue, or save her? Let’s go.”

“If this turns out to be a trap, I will kill you. Or try very hard to.”

Kylo nods. “You’ll probably fail.”

Poe stares at him. “We should go,” he says at last. “Come on. BB-8!”

The droid drops out of the ship with a nervous whirr. [NOT A GOOD IDEA TO TRUST THE EVIL FUCKING ASSHOLE.]

Poe’s laughter scrapes low in his throat. “Tell me something I don’t know, BB.” He rests his good hand on BB-8’s head for a moment.

“Do you two need a moment?” Kylo asks.

“One of these days, you’ll finish the How to People lessons,” Poe says. “But you’ll need to find yourself a new teacher.”

Kylo snorts. “Come on.” He sets off at a run across the wreckage, leaping effortlessly over each block of debris.

Poe clambers after him as quickly as he can, feeling eighteen again, climbing up the temple’s massive steps after an angry almost-Jedi. He skids to a halt as another missile blasts across the ground, shields his eyes against a sudden whirl of debris. The air fills with a sharp smell— _no no no fuck no—_ Poe yanks the exo-mask from his life support box, straps it to his face, and hooks it up to the emergency oxygen supply. “Get out of here,” he says, voice distorted behind the clear duraplast. “That’s coma gas. I don’t have another mask, and I'm not carrying you around.”

“I don’t need to breathe.” Kylo pulls a small Jedi breathing device out of a small pouch on his belt. Apparently it works on lapsed Jedi, too? With an impatient jerk of his head, he’s off running again, Poe hot on his heels.

There—beyond that cracked slab of duracrete— _Dagger One_ lists on its starboard side, crumpled and half-melted. The transparisteel roof of the cockpit is already open and cracked in half. Jess’s body is inert on the ground, fifty feet from the cockpit. Poe runs to her side—breathing. Thank the Force. She’s been gassed, though: her exomask dangles from the straps of her life support box, melted from the heat of the crash. Her hands splay limply by her face, as though she tried to keep the gas out as long as she could. Poe lifts her body with his good hand, angles himself beneath her to pick her up—

“Let me,” Kylo says. Her body floats straight out of Poe’s hands and onto Kylo’s shoulder. He braces her with one hand—and a good amount of the Force, clearly, as he doesn’t even waver beneath the weight. “Come on,” he says, and sets off towards the landing bay without a backwards glance.

“Where are you going?” Poe shouts. “The ships were destroyed! We need to get away from the base. They’ll send a rescue mission after us, if they can.”

“The Upsilon is intact.” Kylo’s words float back between the ashes. “Can you fly it?”

Poe doesn’t bother dignifying this with a response.

[POE IS THE BEST FREAKING PILOT IN THE GALAXY YOU EVIL SADISTIC PSYCHOPATHIC ASSHOLE.]

Poe stifles a snort. “BB,” he says. “I can defend my own honor, thanks.” He hauls himself over the wreckage in Kylo’s wake, listening for the rattle of BB-8’s chassis rolling over the debris. In order to get to what’s left of the hangar, they’ll have to go through the base via one of the few remaining intact hallways. Kylo waves an impatient hand at the blast doors—the lock slides, the doors opens, they’re inside, the doors slide shut.

Halfway through the silent hallway, Kylo stops short. “One of the transports,” he says, voice echoing off the slanted walls. “Crashed, with survivors. They’re in the base. Gassed. But alive. I’m going to pull them out. If I do, can you get them the rest of the way onto a ship?”

Poe stares at Kylo. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Kylo’s eyes go blank. “Can you do it?”

Poe sends a wary glance to BB-8. The astro’s head tilts:  _are you fucking kidding me._ Poe looks back at Kylo. “Why are you doing this?”

Kylo’s shoulders lift, fall.

Poe takes a breath. “Ok. I’m with you. Let’s haul them the fuck out of there. But don’t make me regret this.”

A blinding grin flashes across Kylo’s face. “Good. Let’s go. Put them on the Upsilon, there’s plenty of room. Come on.” He shifts Jess’ body higher on his shoulders and runs on through the base. The blast doors open to reveal a newly roofless hangar, scattered with rubble. The few remaining ships and speeders are stabbed through with falling wreckage, knocked onto their sides, or propped on maintenance blocks in a pre-bombardment tableau. The Upsilon looms above them all, dark wings rising at its sides in a sinister fighter’s stance.

With another wave of Kylo’s hand, the gangplank lowers. They pound aboard and _FUCK IT’S SO WEIRD TO BE ON THIS THING AGAIN—seriously, Dameron. Focus._ Kylo drops Jess onto the black-gleaming floor of the hold and whirls back out. “I’ll find them,” he calls over his shoulder. “And carry them to the hangar doors. Pull them aboard?”

“Copy that.” While waiting for Kylo to reemerge, Poe starts the pre-flight checks. Everything is in working order. The First Order clearly kept the shuttle in meticulously perfect condition, good enough to stay pristine even during its brief stay with the Resistance. There’s plenty of fuel to get to the new base site. “BB-8, set up our flight path?” he calls.

[AFFIRMATIVE.]

“Thanks, buddy.” Poe runs back out to the hangar. The doors smash open. Kylo near-throws two unconscious bodies outside, then slams back into the base. Poe rushes forward, slings his good arm under the first one’s shoulders, hauls her upright, and stumbles with her towards the ship. It’s Lieutenant Connix. Unconscious. But alive. _Thank the Force_. She’s safely on board, stretched out in the far corner of the open hold.

Poe rushes back to the doors and drags the second one in—a new intel tech, whose name Poe probably knows when he’s not half-concussed and thrumming with battle nerves—lays him next to Connix, and runs outside again to find Kylo already dropping two more bodies by the doors.

Again. Again. And over and over and over again, until Poe’s dizzy with exhaustion, stumbling down the gangplank, left arm burning, ribs aching, head spinning. He’s not sure how much more he can take before the adrenaline and painkillers and Dark side healing wear off, and he doesn’t know how Kylo’s still going, but as long as he is, so will Poe. The bodies start to fill the small hold, eerily still and silent, but still breathing—Poe checks each one, breathing a bit easier himself with each new heartbeat he feels.

Another explosion rattles the base and knocks him off his feet, slipping to his knees beneath the limp weight of an Abednedo mechanic, one of the newer recruits. Poe shoves himself up again, readjusts his grip, and drags the mechanic on board.

Back at the hangar doors, bending over to catch his breath, trying to convince the world to stop spinning for a moment— _NO NO NO FUCK NO!_ Poe jerks back up at the scream of a missile overhead, heading straight down towards the base, trailing bright blue fire behind it—he runs for cover, flattens himself to the ground with his arms over his head—another deafening explosion, and he’s already leaping to his feet, running back to the hangar entrance.

“ _KYLO!”_ he screams. The entryway’s collapsed in a heap of rubble, but right there, a pair of bodies—it’s two Resistance officers, safely out, alive, but Kylo is nowhere to be found. Fuck. Where is he? Is he— _KYLO!_ Poe screams, trying to project as loudly as he can—does this even work? He doesn’t have the Force— _KYLO!_ he shouts again.

_Go! Get out of here!_

Ren’s in his mind again, but he’s not going to think about how weird it is to talk in his mind with the man who’s repeatedly mind-raped him about the possibility of saving said mind-raper’s life, he’s not going to think about it, absolutely not, it’s just not worth it— _Where are you?_ Poe asks. _Can you get out?_

 _Go to the ship! Get them to safety._ Kylo orders, ignoring the question.

Poe disregards the order. _You have the fucking Force! Lift the rubble!_

 _I can’t._ There’s an unexpected note of pain in Kylo’s Force-voice, pain edged with fear.

 _Banthashit. Are you a Darksider or aren’t you? Use the pain. You fought them with a bowcaster wound. You can do this._ Poe pulls one-handed at the rubble at the edge of the pile, heaves a chunk of duracrete aside. _Do it or I’ll come get you._

_Why are you helping me?_

_Fuck if I know._ Poe’s face slides into a helpless grin, gritty with duracrete dust. _I need a pilot, you saved my life, whatever. I don't leave fighters behind. Are you coming out now or do I need to come in after you?_

Silence.

_You’re not going to let a couple of rocks take you down, are you?_

Silence.

_You don’t get to be a martyr, Kylo. No easy outs. Not here. Not yet. Come back to us._

Silence.

 _I can’t do this,_ Kylo whispers _._

 _Neither can I._ Poe grits his teeth as another explosion rocks the base. Eerie silence. A hold full of unconscious friends. _Come on, Kylo. Don’t make me come in there after you._

Silence.

 _I’m further to the left,_ Kylo finally replies, voice unsteady. _One pace—yes, there. Ok. You ready? Three—two—oh, Snoke’s tits—_

The rubble groans as it lifts into the air. Poe leans forward, braced for action—there. One long-fingered hand, glove ripped to shreds and streaked with blood, palm up, black-clad arm stretching beneath the shadows of the floating debris.

For a fraction of a second, Poe just stares down at it. _WHY THE FUCK AM I DOING THIS?_ He grabs the hand and hauls Kylo out from underneath the rubble. The moment Kylo’s body is free, the rubble crashes back down into place beyond his feet—but a wide, jagged shard of durasteel remains, lancing through Kylo’s right thigh. There’s already a large pool of blood around it, spreading out in an uneven puddle on the duracrete. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Poe whispers. He’s one lucky Darksider, for sure. Few inches higher and to the left, and the shard would have hit the femoral artery—he’d have bled out in minutes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Poe repeats. “You’re going to need a tourniquet. Now.” He’s got one more adrenaline hypo, but not another painkiller. There’s got to be a medkit on that shuttle somewhere. Right? Of course right. He just has to keep Kylo together until then.

“Use my belt.” Kylo closes his eyes, gasping for air. He’s already lost enough blood to make the world more than slightly hazy with oxygen deprivation.

Poe sees him struggle to breathe—not good not good not good—“Oh, is that why you wear such huge leather belts?” No time to search for the clasp—Poe flicks out his vibroblade again, slices through the thick leather, and works it out from underneath Kylo’s torso as gently as possible. “I wondered about that. I always thought it was a pretty weird fashion choice.” _Come on,_ Poe thinks to himself _. Talk to me, you idiot—_

“Don’t you like—black clothes?” Kylo pants, clearly fighting hard to stay conscious.

Poe stares at the too-wide-too-short strip of leather— _why is everything so much fucking harder with only one hand how the fuck do I—_ Kylo grabs the belt and stretches it taut so Poe can slice down the length of it. “I like black clothes,” Kylo rambles.

“Thanks.” Poe sheathes the knife.

“Think they look—sharp,” Kylo adds. “Impress— _oh, fuck_.” He subsides, eyes closed, gasping, as Poe lifts Kylo’s leg and braces it over his boot just long enough to slip the tourniquet underneath one-handed.

“Sorry,” Poe murmurs. Kylo’s left hand joins his to tie the ends together above his leg. Poe casts around for something to use—a short metal bar flies into his hand. “Pretty handy party trick you’ve got there,” he comments as he places the bar on the knot.

Between their three shaking hands, they eventually manage to tie the leather tightly atop it. “That’s good because—” Kylo bares his teeth in a snarl, body jerking, as Poe twists the stick to tighten the tourniquet. “Because you can only use one hand right now,” he gasps at last.

“Smartass.” But Poe’s grinning, despite their situation. Talking is good. Shock is not. “Hold that.” He waits until Kylo’s pressing down on the stick to keep it in place, then pulls the roll of bandages back out of his life support pack and, with the help of his boot and Kylo’s other hand, manages to wrap the gauze above and below the tourniquet to hold the stick in place.

By the time Poe’s finished, his hand is clammy with drying blood and sweat is running down his back in one continuous line. “Ok,” he says at last. “I don’t have any more hypos, but there should be some on the ship. I’m going to—”

“Brace yourself—” Kylo grabs Poe’s hair and yanks his head down to the duracrete. Another explosion hits, close enough to batter them with tiny shrapnel.

“Thanks,” Poe says, breathless, as he picks himself up off the ground. Something on the back of his neck is bleeding. He ignores it. _This is why he hates groundfighting—_ ”More than a party trick, I guess.”

Kylo snorts.

“I’m going to take you up to the ship now,” Poe repeats. “Hold tight. And keep talking.”

“‘Bout what?” Kylo closes his eyes and presses his hand onto his leg to concentrate. “No. Wait. The metal—it’ll fall out if I stand up. Bleed out. Need to cut the long end off.”

“I know it’ll bleed,” Poe bites, impatient. “There’s nothing to cut it with—”

“Here.” Kylo fumbles at his side, where his lightsaber’s fallen to the ground without his belt to hold it in place. His hands are shaking far too badly now to go swinging it around close to his body. Slowly, reluctantly, he hands it over to Poe.

Poe takes the lightsaber from Kylo and stares at it, astounded. “ _Holy fucking shit_ ,” he whispers to himself. A lightsaber hilt. In his own hand. _Holy fucking shit._

“Slide the—yeah, there. Make sure you’re aiming away. And push that.” Kylo’s face is suddenly illuminated by flickering red.

For one blinding moment Poe can see himself swinging, stabbing, paying this homicidal patricidal populicidal sadistic psychopathic torturing _monster_ back for all the pain he’s caused. Never mind that he’s been attempting to put the man back together—there’s something very, _very_ different about holding such a weapon in his hands. A saber that’s sliced its way across the galaxy and Finn’s back and Leia’s heart with equal disregard.

Kylo clearly catches the feeling from him, because there’s a sudden flare of fear in his eyes—fear, and then resignation. He could freeze Poe in place, he could take the lightsaber back, he could shove Poe away—or Poe could simply set the saber down and walk away. Take off in the Upsilon, and leave Kylo to bleed out slowly on the duracrete.

Their eyes meet, and hold—red saber dark blood dark hair dark eyes. Poe can hear his heartbeat pounding in his temples. Can see Kylo’s in the fiery pulse of the scar across his face.

Poe turns back to the shrapnel sticking up from Kylo’s thigh. “Catch it as it falls?” is all he says. He can’t hold the other end of the durasteel bar as he cuts through it.

Silence.

“Yeah,” Kylo rasps at last. Poe looks back in surprise—there are tears slipping down Kylo’s  cheeks. “Poe! Focus!” Kylo shouts.

“I am!” Poe turns back to his task. The lightsaber slices through the durasteel like a spoon through custard. The massive shard glides—wobbles—crashes down beside Kylo’s leg. Kylo closes his eyes, panting, feeling a faint echo of the lightsaber’s heat conducted through the metal. Not hot enough to do any real damage, thankfully.

The saber snicks out. Poe hands it back in silence. Kylo slides it into his pocket with an unsteady nod. Poe crosses to his left side, helps him sit up, and slides his good arm beneath Kylo’s shoulders. “One. Two. Three. Up.” They stumble upright, half-cocked, slipping sideways. Kylo’s eyes are closed, his right leg floating slightly above the ground. Step, step, hopping stumble-step.

“BB-8!” Poe yells, as they near the gangplank. “Initiate take-off!” With only a faint grumble about oversized clumsy ships that are not nearly as friendly to astromechs as X-wings, BB-8 complies. Poe is about to drop Kylo onto a low bunk in the side of the hold when the Darksider resists, hand tight on Poe’s shoulder.

“Going to need a co-pilot,” Kylo grunts.

“I’ll be fine—”

“Shields. Guns. Co-pilot. Drop me there.”

Poe cuts his eyes at Kylo, shakes his head, and hauls him along towards the cockpit. “Are you always this bossy?” he asks.

When he drops the man into the co-pilot’s seat at last, Kylo closes his eyes and takes a sharp inhale. “Always,” he grunts. “Leia’s my—mother.”

Poe snorts and runs—ok, doesn’t run, everything hurts, that doesn’t matter now, he’s still going to do it—back out onto the duracrete. Only once the last two Resistance officers are sprawled safely in the hold does he return to the cockpit, now brightly lit with a welcoming palette of controls. He can’t suppress a grin as he sits down—flying an Upsilon, _the_ Upsilon, no less, holy shit—

“You are easily amused,” Kylo mutters.

Poe ignores this. Contact, ignition, takeoff—they lift up with a smooth glide above the wreckage of the hangar. Or, ok, it’s a little rockier than he’d like, but one-handed, come on, it’s good enough. Poe hums, satisfied. “Know what you’re doing over there?” he asks.

“Think I remember the theory. Up, right? Up is good?”

Poe slides him a glare. Their ship isn’t going to show up in the First Order’s scopes as an enemy immediately, but it’s not going to take the TIEs long to catch on. “Kylo…” he warns.

“Um. I…have not flown in sixteen years? Or flown an Upsilon, ever. But I do remember how this works. Just tell me which buttons are which.”

Poe doesn’t even need to look away from his own scopes. “Big green lever by your left hand’s the deflector shields. Angle it—”

“—towards the source of hostile fire, yes, got that.”

Poe snorts. “And that set of triggers by your right hand are the laser cannons.”

“Excellent.” There’s a smooth gleam in Kylo’s eyes. His lips pull back over his teeth in a silent growl as he sights a TIE-fighter in his scopes. They soar upwards, as tight and fast as Poe can get them, hand racing between controls, cursing his useless left arm. The Upsilon is slow and unwieldy, but Kylo’s surprisingly good at shooting. Or maybe Poe shouldn’t be surprised, because the next time he glances over, Kylo’s eyes are closed tight, his hands still moving over the controls with lethal accuracy.  

Fucking Force.

Yes, he’s jealous.

“You’re still the best pilot in the galaxy,” Kylo murmurs.

“Get the fuck out of my head,” Poe growls.

Kylo turns to him, startled. “I wasn’t.” He turns back to the controls. “I felt the feeling from you. There’s a difference.”

“Not after combing through every single thought and memory I’ve ever had and then locking me up in my own head. If you ever reach inside my mind again, I will kill you. And if I fail, Rey will finish the job.” Poe thrusts their engines straight up, putting them into position for Kylo to shoot the three TIEs converging on their tail.

Kylo nails them, one by one. “I’m sorry,” he says at last.

“Too late.” Poe hates himself for saying this, hates the bile that rises up in him every time he sees Kylo’s lurking form, hates the uncontrollable fury that makes his hands twitch towards his blaster every time Kylo opens his mouth.

“Why did you save my life, then?” Kylo asks, very quiet.

“Why did you save mine?” Poe counters.

Kylo waits to fire on the errant TIE blinking at the edge of his scopes before glancing over at Poe again. “Can we talk about this when we’re not flying for our lives?”

Poe snorts. “Might be dead by then.”

Kylo nods. “Might be for the best. Would save us a highly awkward conversation.”

Poe looks over at him for a moment. “Atmospheric shields are the orange button,” he replies. “You’re going to want to turn them on and angle them in five-four-three-two- _now_.” They roar through atmo and burst out into the emptiness of space. Poe switches to deep space thrusters, sets them on a straight course out of orbit, and motions to BB-8. “You gave the navicomp our target coords?”

[AFFIRMATIVE. FLIGHT PATH SET. POE NEEDS TO ATTEND TO MEDICAL NEEDS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. VITALS IN SUBOPTIMAL CONDITION.]

“Yeah, buddy, I know that.” Poe angles into their hyperspace lane, checks that their route is locked in, and activates the hyperdrive. There is _nothing more beautiful in any galaxy he has ever seen_ than the blurring of stars beyond his cockpit. He sits still for a moment, admiring their blinding streaks.

“Ok,” he sighs at last. His arm is starting to hurt again. Ribs, too. Shit. “Medical needs, huh? Let’s go, buddy.” He nods to Kylo. “You too. Come on.” Poe pushes himself to his feet and heads toward the hold to get the medkit, ignoring the rapidly advancing black spots at the edges of his vision.

“Poe. Poe!” Kylo’s shouting from the copilot’s seat.

“What?” Poe snaps.

“Why are you walking into the wall?”

“I’m not—oh.” That does feel like a wall in front of his face. _Oh, fuck._ “I can’t see anything.”

“No kidding. Lie the fuck down. _Now_. Before you collapse and hurt yourself even more.”

Ok. _Ok_. That sounds like a good idea. Poe slides bonelessly down the wall and ends up in a vaguely crumpled heap on the floor.


	24. persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: discussions of past potential rape, past suicidal ideation mentioned.

Poe wakes to a flash of blinding pain and cries out.

“Sorry,” Kylo mutters. He’s sitting on the floor beside Poe, plastering a layer of bacta over the deep burns on his arm. Poe notices with an uneasy jolt that in order to do so, Kylo cut away the arm of his flightsuit.

“Bacta? How’d you—” He lets his head sink back to the floor and closes his eyes, focuses on breathing.

“Get the medkit?” Kylo asks, amused. He puts away the bacta gel, pulls out a roll of bandages, and starts wrapping them around Poe’s arm.

Poe nods, eyes still closed. Breathe. _Breathe_. Breathing is good.

“BB-8 convinced the ship’s comp to open the medical compartment. I summoned the kit to me. Unfortunately, the only medkit on my shuttle is specifically for my use, and I don’t use painkillers, so I have nothing more pleasant than this to offer you.”

“Come to the Resistance,” Poe croaks. “We have painkillers.”

Kylo snorts. “Not necessary. As you pointed out earlier, I draw strength from pain.”

“You didn’t this time.”

Kylo’s hands still. “No,” is all he says.

Poe struggles up onto his good elbow. “Why not?”

Dark eyes look down into his. “I don’t want to use that kind of strength anymore,” Kylo answers at last. He turns back to the medkit and pulls out an airsplint. “Not if I can help it.”

“Why not?”

“Do you make a habit of antagonizing people who are trying to treat your injuries?” Kylo asks.

“Only the ones who have no reason to do so.”

Kylo looks back at him, very serious. “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done so years ago.”

“…is that supposed to make me feel safer?” Poe asks.

Kylo raises one eyebrow in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Leia. “Did saving your life and treating your arm and helping you fly out of there safely not convince you of your safety?”

“No,” Poe answers honestly. “It’s too late. I don’t trust you. The amount of pain you’ve inflicted on the people I love—” He stops short and tries to convince himself that antagonizing the Darksider any further is probably a bad idea.

Kylo takes a long time to respond. “You’re right,” he says at last, voice low and rough. “It is too late. I can’t go back. I can’t change any of it. I’ll always have—” He clears his throat, turns the airsplint over and over in his hands. “But I am trying to live my life differently now. This seemed like a good way to start. Lie back down.”

Poe complies, thinking this over. He soon decides to divert all power from thinking to breathing while Kylo straightens his arm and secures the airsplint around it. At last Kylo’s done, and Poe’s still breathing, if also covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

“It—will have to be redone, by a trained professional.” Kylo waves a hand at the airsplint. “But it should at least keep your arm from moving around too much. Which should diminish the pain. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did, in fact. Every time I came back to the entrance, I expected to find you collapsed somewhere.”

Poe’s mouth quirks. “I have a high tolerance for pain.”

“I know,” Kylo says, very dry.

Poe smiles back at him, very bland. “I know you know.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You know, if you’d played along with my jokes like this when we first met, it would have been a far more enjoyable experience for both of us.”

“I know,” Kylo says again.

“Then why didn’t you? It was clear on the _Vengeance_ that you missed having someone to talk to.”

Kylo’s eyes sharpen on his. “Of course not. I had plenty of people to talk to.”

“Who bowed and scraped and thought very loudly about how worried they were that you might get into a rage and kill them.”

Kylo narrows his eyes at Poe. “Your point?”

Poe shrugs. “I knew what I was doing, is all.”

Kylo stares down at him for a long moment. Finally, his lips begin to curl upward. “Hmmph,” is all he says.

Poe smiles. But not for long, because Kylo starts poking at his ribs next. “What, exactly, are you trying to do?” Poe snaps.

“See how well the healing is holding up,” Kylo answers, distracted. “I can’t really do anything else for these.”

“It’s fine.”

“It hurts you.”

Poe looks up at him, stony. “Yes,” he mutters.

“Worse than before.”

“Yes.”

Kylo nods. “Yes. Well. That’s…the Dark side. It will wear off completely in another hour or two. ”   

Poe heaves a sigh, then regrets it. _Really_ regrets it. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes short shallow breaths until his oxygen levels even out. “Ok, that was a mistake. But—here. Your turn,” he rasps, struggling to sit up.

Kylo shakes his head. “How long do we have until landing?”

“If nothing else goes to shit, which is never a guarantee, about forty minutes.” Poe slides back to lean against the wall, still sitting on the cockpit’s gleaming floor.

“I’ll wait for a medic to remove the tourniquet, then.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“You? Possibly. Your piloting skills? More so. Your medical expertise? Not enough to risk bleeding out while flying through deep space.”

“Says the man who’s not currently bleeding out, because of a promptly and skillfully applied tourniquet.”

“Proud of yourself?”

“Yes, in fact.”

Kylo looks at his hands. “Well,” he says. He inspects the edge of one fingernail. Poe wonders suddenly how long it’s been since he went gloveless. “You should be. Proud, I mean. Thank you. For saving my life.”

Poe blinks.

“You’re welcome,” he says at last.

Kylo nods.

They sit in silence, breathing through pain.

“You should be lying down,” Poe says at last. “Come on.” He braces his hands beneath him, prepares to shove to his feet. “I’ll take you to the bunk.”

“Yeah, that’s ok, I don’t usually bother with dinner first either.”

Poe stops short, eyes fixed on the far bulkhead. “You know,” he says at last, “that might have been funny if you hadn’t spent a few days threatening to rape me.”

“You asked me to. Repeatedly.”

Poe stares at him. “Maybe we should stop talking,” he says at last.

“We definitely should. I don’t need to go to the bunk. But you should sleep. You’ll need to be awake when you try to land this thing.”

“Right,” Poe snorts. “Because I absolutely feel safe enough to sleep in front of you.”

“What, you think I’m going to attack you in your sleep?”

Poe levels him a furious glare.

Kylo shrugs, but there’s a defensive flicker in his eyes. “If I was going to, I would have done so already. I’m not interested.”

“Not even in _persuasion?"_

“No.”

“Why not?” Poe asks, belligerent. Because the day he grows a healthy sense of self-preservation is the day he puts away his helmet for good.

Kylo glowers down at him.

“You’re still in a position of power here. You have the fucking Force. I don’t. You could have demanded a favor before setting my arm. Why didn’t you?”

Kylo’s silent. Poe glares at him.

“Are you…” Kylo trails off and cocks his head at Poe.

“Am I what?” Poe snaps.

“Unaware that I was being a bit facetious, at the time?”

Poe blinks. “What?”

“I—” Kylo leans back suddenly, as though perhaps regretting the beginning of that sentence. “Never mind,” he says, and leans down to start packing up the medkit.

“You what?” Poe asks dangerously.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Kylo.”

“You’ve got pilot things to do, I’m sure.”

“Kylo.”

“No.”

Poe folds his arms across his chest.

Kylo snaps the medkit shut and fixes his eyes on it. “I’ve never had sex,” he mutters.

“ _Ever?”_ Poe asks, incredulous.

“I’ve been fighting for my life since I was fifteen years old,” Kylo snaps. “So no. Never. Didn’t exactly have time to think about it. Not even sure if I’d like it. I’ve just—never had the time or space to think about it. I’ve been trying to—survive.” His voice scrapes against the black folds of his cloak.

Poe blinks at him. Folds his arms around his middle, very carefully, and waits while the world rearranges itself around him. So he didn’t. He _didn’t_. Poe closes his eyes and tips his head back, dizzy with relief. “Then why did you keep threatening it?” he rasps at last.

“To fuck with your head, of course.”

 _Well. That makes far more sense than it doesn’t._ Poe stares at him. “Oh,” he says, with his usual brilliant eloquence. “I.” He pushes unsteadily to his feet, one hand on the wall for balance. Walks off into the hold, putting each foot in front of the other with precise care. He looks over the rows of coma-gassed Resistance members— _ok, no, that’s still creepy_ —carefully kneels, and puts a hand on Jess’ pulse to doublecheck that she’s ok. Stands up. Wanders on, past the door to the locker-sized holding cell the Stormtroopers shoved him into, years ago, bruised and shackled and covered in sand and still hearing the villagers’ screams.

At the back of a shuttle is a viewport. Poe leans his forehead against it. The stars streak past far beyond them. He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. _He didn’t,_ he thinks. _He didn’t._

_What._

_The._

_Fuck._

Poe whirls back towards the cockpit. “Why should I believe you?”

Even from the distance, he can hear Kylo’s shrug. “I can say it again in front of Rey, if that would help.”

“This doesn’t change anything. You still—” _Tortured me. Threatened to rape me, make me forget the man I love, kill me. Sliced through every single thought and memory I’ve ever had. Drugged me. Locked me inside my own head. Nearly killed Finn. Broke Leia’s heart. And cut through Han’s._

“I’m still a monster,” Kylo supplies. In the reflective walls of the shuttle, Poe can see Kylo: leaning back in his chair, arms locked across his chest, mouth a hard line.

Poe nods. The throb of the engines reverberates up through the floor and down to his good hand. He curls his fingers into a fist and holds on tight. “You say that. Like it doesn’t even matter.”

Kylo’s shoulders shift up towards his ears, then down. “There’s nothing I can do to change it.”

“No.” Poe’s breath huffs out. “There isn’t. Force’s sake.” He makes his way back across the hold. Stops at the entry to the cockpit and grabs the jamb, knuckles white on the durasteel ridge. “You killed your fucking father.”

 _“Do not talk to me about that moment,”_ Kylo growls. “I will regret it until the day I die.”

Poe stares at him. “You regret it,” he says. “You regret it. Then why the _fuck_ did you do it!” he snaps.

“I thought it would stop the pain,” Kylo’s voice is barely audible above the hum of the engines. “That I wouldn’t feel called to the Light anymore. If I killed all of them. That I wouldn’t be torn apart anymore.” Kylo’s voice hitches, unsteady. “That I could just be—safe. Ok.”

“Did it work?” Poe asks, voice rough.

Kylo looks at him with bruise-dark eyes. Poe swallows.

“It doesn’t even matter that I regret it. It happened. I did it. And nothing I ever do can undo it. Can.” His hand clenches around the saberhilt in his pocket. “Bring him back.” His words fall to the ground with a muffled thud.

Stars race past them, elongated and acute. The cockpit flashes green, white, green. Poe’s chest is hollow. “You wanted to go out with a bit of Light. Like Vader.” Kylo nods, one short sharp jerk. “And you think that will make it all better.”

“ _No_ ,” Kylo growls. “Nothing I do will make it better. Best I can do. Is take myself out of it.” He staggers to his feet in an inhuman burst of strength, braces his hands on the copilot’s chair behind him. Looks straight at Poe. There’s a glinting edge around his eyes, a white rim of—

_Terror?_

_What. The. Fuck._

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says. He holds Poe’s eyes. The chair trembles beneath his tight grip. “For everything. For all of it. I will. Always. Be sorry.”

“I still don’t give a fuck.”

Kylo nods. “I know.” His eyes fall to his bloodsoaked pant leg, the tight twist of the tourniquet. “Would you like to shout at me some more?”

“No. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Well.” Kylo’s mouth twitches. “I’d rather never see myself again either.”

“Banthashit. You must want this. If you didn’t, you’d change.”

“Don’t you think I’ve _tried?"_ Kylo roars. His body shifts as though to lunge towards Poe, before nearly losing his one-legged balance and leaning back against the chair.

Poe flinches back.

“If I could.” Kylo’s teeth scrape over the words. “Be Light. I would.” He looks down at Poe, eyes sharp and unyielding. “There is no cure for this. I _am_ a monster. I _am_ Dark. I am a murderer and a psychopath and a sadist and all of those other lovely words you’ve used on me. And I will always be. It doesn’t matter how much good I ever do. The Darkness will rise again someday, and I will fall.” Kylo’s knuckles tighten on the back of the chair. “Be sure everyone you care about is far away from me when it happens.”

“Then why did you come back to the base.” Poe’s voice is raw. “Put all of us in danger.”

The angles of Kylo’s face waver, shift, crease, twist. He glares at Poe, or tries to, but he’s crying now, no mask to cover it, no way to stop. He glowers anyway, through the tears.

Poe stares at him. Kylo lowers himself to the floor, arms shaking, head bowed. “I wanted.” The words scrape in his throat. “To see her.”

Poe slides down the wall to the floor and pulls his knees into his chest. “One last time,” he whispers.

Kylo nods.

“Then why did you let me save you?”

Kylo stares at the reflective tiles of the cockpit floor. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t going to. I—” He stops. “For a moment.” The words are barely audible over the low murmur of the engines. “It seemed like.”

Poe waits. His ribs are starting to burn with each breath.

Kylo pleats his tunic into a long line of dark folds. “Like you believed in me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t.”

Kylo nods. “I know. But for a moment. I thought—” His shoulders shift up, down. “Maybe.”

“What the fuck would change if I did?

“Rey said.” Kylo’s fingers twine into each other, gripping tightly enough to numb. “That I had to take a leap. Of faith.” He shakes his head. “It’s not like that. It’s not even every day. It’s every moment, every minute, all the time. Choosing. Believing. Trying. It’s _exhausting,_ " he bites. “I can’t—” His shoulders shift up, down. “I can’t do it.”

A sardonic smile slowly blooms across Poe’s face. “Huh,” he says.

Kylo glances up at him. “What?”

“Practicing.” Poe’s smile broadens, low and crooked. “Retraining your mind. You’ll never guess why I had to learn that.”

Kylo’s hands curl into fists.

“If I can do it.” Poe’s voice is hard. “You can, too.”

Kylo looks up at last. Poe holds his eyes. The dark streak of Kylo’s scar is flushed red. His eyes are bright, very bright. His face still glitters with tears.

Poe pulls a tissue from a pocket of his flightsuit and holds it out.

Kylo’s eyes fall to the fluttering white square. His breath echoes in the cockpit. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a fucking tissue. Do you want it or not?”

Kylo stares at it for a long time. Reaches out. Takes it carefully from Poe’s hand. Wipes his face. Crumples it into a tiny ball.

Poe swallows. “Think about it,” he says at last, hoarse. “I need to sleep. So I can land this thing.”

Kylo’s eyes fly up to his, startled. Poe takes a slow, deep breath. Scoots cautiously down to lay beside the wall of the cockpit, shifts to find a position that doesn’t kill his ribs or his arm. Kylo looks out into the hold for a moment, eyes unfocused, fingers stretching out towards the cockpit entrance. A moment later, a soft thing nudges Poe’s head. He twists up, looks— “Are you fucking kidding me.”

“I can send it back. If you don’t want it.”

Poe stares at the pillow. Flat black, First Order regulation-sized, hexagonal insignia on one corner. He touches it. Shoves it beneath his head. Lies back again. Shakes his head. “Thank you.” He laughs suddenly. “You,” he says, “are so fucking weird.”

“You’re welcome.”

“In a different galaxy," Poe says. "Without the Force. Without all of this shit. I think. We could have been friends, maybe.”

Silence.

“I’d have liked that,” Kylo says, very soft.

Poe closes his eyes. Tries to pretend he feels safe.

“Me too,” he says. “Me too.”

 

 

 

“Poe. Poe!” A disembodied touch on his shoulder sends him straight out of sleep faster than jumping to hyper. Poe jerks awake and curses, holding a hand to his burning ribs.

“Sorry.” Kylo’s back in the copilot’s seat. “The proximity alerts are about to go off—we’re almost there.”

“Oh.” Poe blinks up at the curving bulkhead and admires the blurred starlines reflected in its gleaming chrome as he gathers himself back together. “Worried I’d sleep through it? BB-8 always wakes me in time.”

“Thought I’d wake you a bit earlier.” Kylo turns back to the cockpit viewport. Poe grits his teeth and pushes himself upright, almost missing Kylo’s next quiet words. “You were dreaming.”

Poe pauses. Leans back against the bulkhead for support. “Oh,” is all he says. He steps carefully to the pilot’s seat and sits, not looking over at the gangly Darksider.

“Happen often?” Kylo asks, conversational.

“Couple nights a week, every week, last two years.” The alert goes off—Poe drags the lever down to bring them out of hyperspace.

“Oh,” is all Kylo says. The roar of the deep space thrusters is almost enough to drown Kylo’s voice out again—”I’m sorry,” he murmurs.  

Poe looks at Kylo, incredulous. The other man meets his eyes. Poe looks back out the viewport.

“Atmospheric shields,” Poe says at last. “Angled below us, this time.” Kylo’s brows tighten in concentration as he turns back to the controls. “You’ll want to fasten your crash harness,” Poe adds. “I’ve never landed one-handed before.”

Kylo takes a moment to ensure the shields are in place. “I think we’ll be fine,” he says.

Poe smiles.

 

 

 

Upon breaching atmo, they’re immediately greeted by most of Stiletto squadron, roaring towards them in attack position. “BB-8, didn’t you transmit the friendly signal?” Poe shouts. Not waiting for a response, he opens their comm to all channels. “Stiletto Squadron, this is Black Leader! Repeat, this is—”

“Fucking hell, Dameron! You made it?”

“I think so?”

“Oh, thank the Force. I was not looking forward to that meeting.”

“I’ve got Jess, too. And a lot of other officers. From one of the downed transports. Coma-gassed, but alive. They’ll wake up in a few hours.”

“Well, that’s some of the best fucking news we’ve gotten all day.”

“How’d the rest of the battle go?”

“You mean after you crash-landed and scared the fucking banthashit out of us and made Snap swear so badly his grandmother would have rapped his knuckles with a stun baton?”

“Um. Yes?” Poe takes a moment to concentrate on keeping the ship level in the atmospheric turbulence.

“Well. Base is totaled, of course. But other than that, I think we actually won. You’re not flying drunk over there, are you? Party doesn’t start till everyone gets home, you know.”

Poe laughs. “Nah. This ship’s just not really made for a one-handed pilot.”

“Shit, Poe! None of them are. What happened?”

“Long story. Can you get medical? I don’t have a comm line to the base.”

“No can do, Dameron. Sorry. We’ve got a serious medic shortage going on right now. If you’re well enough to fly, you probably won’t get seen until tomorrow at least.”

Poe’s eyes flick to Kylo, back to the viewport. “We’re going to need faster attention than that.”

“Who’s this ‘we’?”

“Kylo and I.”

“ _Kylo_ and—”

“Long _er_ story, Karé.”

“Right. Copy that. Well. I don’t think we have any more working gurneys, but if you got Kylo onto the ship, then you can get Kylo off the ship. At least, I’m assuming this wound was inflicted before getting onboard, because if you fought in space, either you wouldn’t be flying right now or you’d have kicked his ass out of the airlock.”

Poe snorts.

“Oh, and we heard from Finn—”

“He’s ok?” Poe asks with fervent relief. “I didn’t want to—”

“Jinx it, yeah, I know, you superstitious nerfherder. He’s fine. They got back to the base from Moonreach just as the battle was ending, I think? Tell you what, I don’t even know the full story, I don’t think anyone does. They’re still in hyper now. We just got in. Haven’t heard from Leia yet.”

Kylo leans over the comm. “She’s fine.” Poe’s eyes flick over to his in surprise. Kylo looks up at him and shrugs.

“Can’t _wait_ to hear this longer story of yours, Dameron,” Karé says at last, after a very eloquent silence. “Ground control’s cleared you to land in bay 24. We don’t have lights—can you see it?”

Poe squints, finally finds the hastily painted 24 on the landing bay below them. “Yeah, I see it. Thanks, Karé.”

“Anytime, Dameron. Glad you made it. We’re still on patrol for the next three hours or so, but I’ll see you down there when I can.” She signs off. Their comm goes quiet.

“Hang on tight, Kylo,” Poe’s hand races between the controls as fast as he possibly can. “This might get rough.”

It does, but not terribly so. The Upsilon touches down with only a moderate jolt on the crowded landing bay. Poe heaves a sigh of relief and leans his head down on the control panel, fighting a wave of dizziness. Landed. Base. Safe. _Oh, Force._

“Going to make it?” Kylo asks, dry.

“How the fuck are you still conscious, Kylo?” Poe asks, with more disbelief than heat. “Thought you’d have passed out long ago, but you’re fresh as—” Poe’s voice peters out, exhausted.  

“You said it yourself. Pain strengthens me.”

Poe picks his head up at that and looks over at Kylo. “You didn’t want to use that kind of strength.”

“I don’t.” A hesitant smile hovers around Kylo’s face. “So I didn’t. Oh. Here.” A water pak floats up from the medkit on the floor to brush against Poe’s hand.

The seal on the water pak is still intact. “Thanks,” Poe murmurs, surprised. He takes comfort in the crisp snap of the seal as it breaks. He pours some into his mouth, messy and grateful, then hands the rest to Kylo.

Kylo drinks, then hands the last of the water back to Poe. “I can use pain to strengthen me,” he says, “using the Dark side of the Force. But to do so, I need a locus of attention—something to pour the pain into. Anger, usually. That’s what I used when I fought them. I didn’t want to use it now. Like I said, I’m trying to do things differently.”

“Then why are you using the pain now?”

“I found a different locus.”

“What is it?”

Kylo does not volunteer anything more. “Come on,” Poe says at last, pushing himself carefully to his feet and waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass. He holds a hand out to Kylo. “Let’s get you to a medic. It’s been almost an hour, now. That tourniquet has to come off soon.”

Kylo accepts his hand. He rises slowly, balancing against the control panel, and allows Poe to loop his good arm underneath his shoulders to support the rest of his weight. They make their slow way forward out of the cockpit, step by step, Kylo’s injured leg floating behind them.

Halfway through the hold, Kylo stops, as though needing to rest for a moment. Poe stops with him, waiting for him to gather his strength. “I can’t undo any of the things I’ve done,” Kylo says, very quiet. “But I’d like to try to repair some of them, if I can.” He pauses. “Getting you back, safe. Seemed like a good place to start. So that’s what I used. As a locus.”

Poe stares at him for a long moment, utterly speechless. “Thank you,” he says at last, voice unsteady. “I—” He looks across the hold, tries to orient himself in a new star system. “Thank you,” he repeats, turning back to Kylo.

Kylo nods, shifts his weight to keep his balance. “You’re welcome.”

“It’ll take me a long time to forgive you.” Poe shifts with him, adjusts his grip to keep them both steady. “And—I might never get there. But I’ll work on it.”

“Thank you.” Kylo clears his throat. “Can—” He hesitates. “Can we start over?”

“No.” Poe looks down at their feet, three ash-covered boots on a gleaming black tile. He takes a deep breath. “But we can start from here, if you’d like.”

A slow, tentative smile spreads across Kylo’s face. “Ok,” he says. “Ok. I can work with that.”

“Good.” Poe tries on a smile of his own and tugs Kylo forward. “Come on, saberbrain. Let’s go rejoin the world.”


	25. my people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ************************************************
> 
>  
> 
> in our brokenness  
> thrives life, thrives light, thrives  
> the essence of our strength
> 
> _—What is Broken Is What God Blesses (Jimmy Santiago Baca)_
> 
>  
> 
> ************************************************
> 
> *** TW: panic attack, discussions of past not-rape, physical and moral injuries, grief.

As they break through the clouds over the base, Finn cranes his body half out of his seat to scan the ground below. It’s nearly as horrific a sight as Moonreach, but according to Snap, most of the transports made it out in time.

There. By the edge of the forest, tipped on its side. Crumpled and smashed and—empty? Finn lands right next to the wreckage and scrambles out of _Freedom One._

The cockpit’s empty. Even BB-8 is gone.  The only remainders are a slash-stain of blood on the left side of the cockpit and a scrap of orange flightsuit snagged on a strip of durasteel, peeling straight back from the hull.

_POE._

Finn thumbs his comm. “Luke.” He steels his voice. “You’ve been in his head. Can you—”

“My range for him doesn’t extend beyond a planet,” is the calm response. “But I can’t sense his Force-signature now. Which could, of course, be good news or bad.”

“Right.” Finn’s tracker isn’t pulling up a signal from Poe’s dogtags. Which could, likewise, mean that he made it off the planet, or that the tags were destroyed by a bomb, along with— “Any survivors?” Finn asks, thoroughly sick of walking through bombarded wastelands.

“No.” Luke’s voice is grim. “Not that our scanners are picking up, at least. The transports that were shot down—” Luke pauses.

“Yeah,” Finn says.

“If there are no survivors,” Snap cuts in, “then we should get out of here.”

Finn casts one last look around the crash site. There’s no tousle of hair peeking up from behind the debris. No orange-flightsuited body thrown from the wreckage. No trail of blood. His scanner is utterly, ominously, eerily silent.

“Let’s go,” he says.

 

 

 

Poe and Kylo tumble down the gangplank like an old three-legged battle droid, followed closely by the ever-faithful BB-8. Before they even reach the ground, Rey’s running towards them, arms outstretched. _“KYLO!”_ she roars.

“Careful, careful!” Poe warns. Rey skids to a halt just before them.

“What did you do?” Rey pants. “You ran, you didn’t even tell me, I—” Her eyes track back and forth between Poe and Kylo. ”Poe, what happened to you? To you both.”

“Long story,” Poe repeats with a tired laugh. “Kylo needs to get to medical, now. Can you get his other side?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course—” Rey hurries over to shore up Kylo’s right side. “You’ll tell me, on the way.”

An excellent idea. Talking keeps Poe’s mind off the ever-increasing pain in his ribs, and the pressure of Kylo’s weight on him. It’s not nearly as much as it should be, which means that either Rey or Kylo or both are taking most of his weight with the Force, but even so, the lancing darts in his chest are growing increasingly fiery with each breath.

They register Kylo with a meddroid and deposit him in the first triage line, among those with the most serious injuries. Before they leave, however, Kylo’s hand catches the end of Rey’s tunic. “You need to meditate,” he croaks. “What happened. With the Knights. You need to—”

“I know that,” Rey snaps. “I will. When there’s time.”

“Now,” Kylo growls. “You’re all—” His hand waves in the air, which could signify anything from _your tunic is rumpled_ to _your Force-signature is a tangled pile of shit._

“He’s bossy, isn’t he?” Poe mutters.

Rey cuts her eyes at him. Her lips quirk. “Fine,” she grumbles. “But first, I’m getting you—” she points an accusing finger at Poe— “to your own place in triage. You’re already swaying.”

“I’m not—”

Rey grabs his elbow and storms off with him down to second triage, where those with urgent but not life-threatening injuries are gathering. “Rey,” Poe murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. Poe hastily registers with a meddroid. He sends BB-8 to report to Threepio, who will transmit the message to Leia when she has time to hear it. Before lying down, he carefully strips off the rest of his flightsuit. Rey helps him fold it to make a cushion to ease some of the aching pressure on his ribs from lying down flat. His uniform beneath it is soaked with sweat, but so is everyone’s.

“You’ll be all right?” Rey asks as Poe cautiously stretches out on the cool ground.

“I’ll be fine.” Poe smiles up at her. “So will Jess. She’s probably somewhere in the medical zone by now, with the rest of the officers who were gassed—I think a few fighters were starting to carry them out into the medical zone. And you—are you all right?”

Rey nods. “Good.” She walks away towards the cliffs, ignoring Poe’s question.

“Rey,” he calls.

She stops. Turns around. “I will be,” she says.

“Those cliffs,” Poe says. “If there’s a way to climb down. I was thinking that looks like a perfect meditation spot. And you could go swimming, after.”

That finally sparks a smile, albeit a small one. “I’ll go investigate, then,” she says. Gracefully erect as ever, she weaves her way through the chaos towards the silent solace of the cliffs. Poe watches her leave, still worried, until his eyelids slope shut at last.

 

 

 

With the events of the last few hours, it’s probably inevitable that Poe ends up dreaming again of a black leather glove pulling his _self_ out of his own head and sucking it in through the grate in a chrome mask until only shreds remain, burning his skin into smouldering ashes. He wakes with a frantic gasp, which aggravates the pain in his cracked and broken ribs, which constricts his lungs so badly he can’t get in any air, which is sometimes enough—he’s learned this the hard way—to trigger a panic attack.

Choking on nothing, Poe struggles to breathe, only to be hit by even tighter waves of pain from his ribs. The edges of the world blur around him. He can feel his limbs starting to jerk, desperate for oxygen. Air. Air. Oh, Force. _Air_. _Please._

Poe’s good hand reaches out blindly, grasps at nothing. A strong hand takes it. He grips the hand with all his strength and holds on tight, praying the attack will pass before he runs out of air entirely. He’s not going to die. Not here. Not now. Please. _Please. AIR._

He’s not sure how long it is until the surge of panic begins to ebb, but it does, it does, eventually it does. Gradually his body relaxes, eases, collapses. Poe takes shallow breaths, desperately grateful for each one. His ribs are a badly-welded patchwork of agony. He swallows against the nauseating pain, finds his eyes are watering. Eventually, he becomes aware again of the hand he’s holding. His fingers are clenched tightly enough around the hand to hurt it, so he eases his grip—

That’s not Finn’s hand. Poe’s eyes blink open, startled, to find the General sitting beside him, holding his hand between hers, braid slightly askew atop her head. Still more than halfway out of it, Poe jerks to some semblance of horizontal attention and curses under his breath as the movement jars his ribs again.

“At ease, Commander!” Leia releases his hand, eyes warm. “Relax. Please.”

“General Organa,” Poe coughs. “Did you—what did you need me for? I can—” He struggles to sit up.

“What part of ‘at ease’ was unclear, Dameron?” Leia presses a hand to his chest, lips quirking into a smile. “Are you all right now? Do you need a medic?”

“No. I’m fine,” Poe rasps. He dashes a hand at his eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I really thought I was over those. Think I’ve had as many attacks in the past few weeks as I have in the entire past year. And I’m sorry. I think I—um. Crushed your hand. Thought you were Finn.”

“It’s all right. Really.” Leia waits a moment as he slowly relaxes back onto the mattress.

“What do you need me to do?” Poe asks again, once he’s caught most of his breath back.

Leia shakes her head. “The battle’s over now. What I need you to do now is rest, and heal.”

“Casualties?” Poe’s eyes are intent on hers.

“One hundred and forty-six,” Leia answers, voice steady. “Fifty-four Resistance fighters, eighteen officers, twenty-three medics, forty-two Stormtroopers. Nine pilots.”

Poe nods, mouth pulling in at the edges. It’s a lot—a _lot—_ but not nearly as much as it could have been.

“Major Wexley will come by later to report to you on the pilots’ statuses. And yes, I will need you to report to me eventually, and discuss how to rearrange the squadrons following the losses. But.” Leia looks down at him for a moment. “The reason I came here. If I may step down as your general for a moment, Poe.”

He blinks at the unexpected familiarity.

“I wanted to thank you,” Leia continues, voice rough. “For saving my son’s life.”

Poe stares up at her. “You’re welcome,” he says at last. For a moment a series of flip replies dance on his tongue— _I’ll send you the bill later_ , _careful or I might take it back,_ even simply _he saved mine first—_ but they die on his lips, unsaid.

“I am sure it was a…difficult decision,” Leia adds.

“No,” Poe answers honestly. “I—it was not such a difficult choice to make. In the end. He—saved my life as well, you know. And many Resistance officers. He is…a different person than he was. He’s a good man, now. Or at least, trying very hard to be one.”

Leia bites her lip, hard. For the first time in all the years Poe’s known her, her eyes glitter. She blinks rapidly. “Well.” She clears her throat. “That’s.”

“You’re allowed to cry,” Poe says, very soft.

Her lips curve up. “When the war is over,” she says. She pushes to her feet with a slight wince and looks down at him again. “If I start now, I may never stop.”

She picks her way back down the line of wounded towards her tent without a backward glance.

 

 

 

 

The rock crumbles away from beneath Rey’s fingertips, scattering ochre sand over her hair and shoulder. She blinks her eyes clear and rubs her forehead on the sleeve of her tunic so that no more falls in her eyes. She spares a half-second’s regret for her dust-mask and goggles, no doubt liberated by now by some other industrious scavenger, and climbs on. These cliffs are hardly different from the steepest of the sand-dunes on Jakku, reliably untrustworthy and constantly eroding. The only way to climb a cliff like this is to assume that each new handhold will disintegrate the moment you need it.

Rey’s good at that.

 

 

 

When she finally hauls herself back up over the edge, Chewie’s standing there, staring out over the ocean. “Remind you of home?” she asks.

 _I missed the ocean,_ he grunts.

“Well,” she says. “Any time you want to go to Ahch-To. If you want a copilot. I volunteer.” She brushes the worst of the rusty sand from her lightsaber hilt, blows on it to make sure it’s clean, and starts walking back to the triage lines. There’s still sand in her clothes, hair, whatever. The meditative calm she’d found for a moment on the shore is quickly dissipating. “Just ask a third pilot to come along with us,” she says, over her shoulder. “If you think you’ll want to leave.”

His paw descends on her shoulder, heavy and musky, with a hint of claw. _Even if I did,_ he growls. _I’d come back to you._

Rey blinks. Blinks again.

He opens his arms to her.

Rey steps into his hug and leans her head on his arms. It’s a full-body embrace, a noseful of fur, bandolier marks imprinted on her chest. For a long moment, she closes her eyes and lets the calming strength of his arms comfort her. _I never got a chance to thank you,_ he says. _For bringing him back._ The wind rushes along his thick fur, whipping it against her skin. _Han would be proud of you,_ he adds, very quiet.

Rey looks up at him. He raises a paw and swipes at her face. _Still wet from the ocean,_ he says. _Next time you go swimming, take a towel with you._

She laughs at that, a little choked, and ducks his swinging paw. “Careful, or I’ll push you in next time.”

He snorts. _Already forgot how much you hate the smell of a wet Wookiee?_

Rey shudders. “Oh, fuck, no, you’re right. Well. I’ll tell Threepio you wanted to have dinner with him, instead.”

_You wouldn't dare._

She raises a brow at him. “Try me.”

He laughs and ruffles the braided crown of her hair. _They’re starting to wake up from the coma gas now,_ he says. _I thought you might want to say hi to your ladylove._

Rey jolts out of his arms. “Now? The meddroid said they wouldn’t wake up for another hour or so!” She hurries back towards the triage lines. Chewie paces easily beside her.

 _You’ll be all right?_ he growls. _I need to go check on the_ Falcon.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, willing it to be true. “And—” Just before reentering the madcap bustle of the medical zone, she stops short. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “I needed a hug.”

 _I know_ , Chewie grumbles. _And I’m not the one who can read minds._

“Nerfherder.” Rey whacks his arm.

Chewie howls in mock injury. At the noise, Threepio looks up from the meddroid he’s consulting with, probably discussing statistics for the injured fighters. “Oh!” he says. “I needed to speak to you both—”

Rey evades him by slipping behind a cluster of meddroids. When she looks back, Chewie’s vanished into thin air. Threepio looks around, completely bemused, before finally wavering off to the control tents.

 

 

 

Rey finds Jess at last, sprawled in third triage in the middle of a line of formerly-gassed officers, some of whom are starting to rouse. “Fuck,” Jess slurs. Rey hides a laugh behind her hand. She slips cross-legged to the ground by Jess’ head and waits.

“Fucking fuckity fuck,” Jess mutters a few minutes later.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Wha—hey—who?” Jess struggles up onto her elbow. “What the fuckity fickity fuck.”

“I’m sure I agree.”

Jess’ eyes snap open. “Rey?” she croaks, suddenly lucid with panic. “No. No! What the fuck did you do?”

“What?”

“No—Rey—” Jess collapses back onto her back and closes her eyes. “Tell me this isn’t the Force.”

“What? No!” Rey grabs Jess’ hand and holds it tight. “No no no! You’re fine. You’re alive. You got gassed, that’s all—”

“But I was on the base, the bombs—”

“Poe and Kylo rescued you. It’s ok. You’re ok.”

“Oh.” Jess squints up at Rey through the smoky air. Her elegant brows snap shut. “Wait, _what?_ Poe and _Kylo_ —”

“Kylo escaped from our transport and rescued Poe. Then they rescued you and the survivors from one of the transports. Then Poe rescued Kylo when the base collapsed over him. Then they flew here.”

“That’s way too many rescues for one afternoon.” Jess shakes her head. “And neither of them killed the other?”

“Nope.”

“Or even tried to?”

“Apparently not.”

“What. The. Fuck,” is Jess’ considered opinion.

Rey nods. “Definitely.”

“But—what did you do in the battle? Are you ok?”

Rey stares down at Jess. “I’m fine. I fought the Knights, with Kylo. Killed them.”

“Firecat.” Jess reaches up with her free hand and tugs on one of Rey’s curls, frizzing out from her forehead where it escaped from the braid Jess had put it in so neatly only that morning. “You don’t seem fine.”

"I'm not," Rey says. She stares the hilt of her saber. “To kill them,” she says suddenly, free hand clenched into a fist, “I had to use some of the Dark side. For a moment, I could feel— _everything._ It was terrifying. Overwhelming. I don’t want to do that ever again. And I’m going to _have_ to, Jess. In order to help Kylo. And—to create this school, where we’ll teach both sides of the Force, together. I’m going to need to feel them and I can’t, Jess, I can’t, I—”

“It didn’t kill you.” Jess’ hand tightens on hers. “Right?”

Rey blinks down at her. “No,” she says at last. “But it hurt, it—”

“Since when does that scare you? You can do anything, you always say—”

“I can,” Rey snaps. “But—” She stops. There’s a streak of rusty sand across her lightsaber, despite her attempts to wipe it off. She’ll have to clean it properly. Shine it again. It’s worthless like this, no one would give her anything for it— Rey shakes her head to clear it and drags herself back to reality. Jess stares up at her, eyes wide in her soot-streaked face. “But I still—” Rey’s voice cracks.

Jess’ face folds along tight frown lines, fraught with worry for her. “Come down here,” she says, very soft. “Please? Come let me hug you.” She strokes a gentle finger down the outside of Rey’s arm.

“What?” Rey snaps. “There’s a sign on my forehead now? Saying that I need hugs?”

Jess nods. “Written in Aurebesh, Outer Rim Basic, and Mandalorian.”

Rey laughs at that, helpless. She slides down to Jess and lets her girlfriend take her into her arms. Jess loops an arm over her waist and tugs her closer. Rey presses her nose into Jess’ shoulder and breathes in deeply, taking comfort in her girlfriend’s familiar smell of engine oil, ion fumes, sweat, and the sweet tang of zwil-scented soap. Even the lingering hint of smoke that underlays Jess’ flightsuit is a relief, somehow: proof of life, irrefutable. Jess curls her ankle over Rey’s. Good idea? Great idea. Rey slips a leg between Jess’. Jess lets her leg curl fully over Rey’s.

Entwined and entangled, Rey can finally breathe. She smoothes a hand over Jess’ long braid, matted from her helmet, dark silky black. “Do you want to go make camp in the forest? Some people are, now. We could get a blanket or something.”

“Sure,” Jess murmurs. “And nice try on changing the subject, but if you thought that would dissuade me, where have you been the last two years?”

Rey sighs. “It was worth a try?”

“If you need to scream,” Jess murmurs. “You can. Anytime. It’s ok that it hurts.”

“Easy for you to say,” Rey mutters.

Jess laughs, low and raspy. “Yup,” she agrees easily. “That was pretty easy to say.”

“Nerfherder.” Rey runs a finger up the links of Jess’ braid. “Look,” she sighs. “I meditated. It helped. I’ll meditate some more later, and then I’ll go hit things, and then maybe I’ll kiss you, and then maybe I’ll cry.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.”

“Good. Because now,” Rey yawns. “I intend to get some sleep.”

“An _excellent_ plan.”

“And—thank you,” Rey mumbles. “Don’t you even think about crashing your ship again. You hear me? But thank you. For saving Leia.”

“Any time.” Jess presses a soft kiss to her girlfriend’s forehead.

“Mmm.” Rey snuggles in tighter and closes her eyes. Jess’ body is warm around hers, safe and secure and _home._ The din of the medical zone fades around them as they sink deeper into sleep. _I never got a chance to dance for you,_ Jess sighs to Rey as she falls asleep. _In that golden bikini._

Rey pulls them onto their dream-island, bobbing on the shores of the Force, and hands Jess the bikini with a flourish. _Then dance for me, bomber-slayer._ She reclines back on the soft, grassy shores, and conjures up a few pillows to rest on. Jess tugs the bikini on over thatches of dark hair, runs a hand up the curving lines of her body, flicks her hair out of its customary braid, and sets one foot forward in the first steps of a traditional Dandorian dance that was probably not intended to be danced while wearing a Hutt-slave’s bikini.

The sight of Jess’s wicked smile goes a long way to easing the tight pinch in Rey’s chest. Feelings, yes, ok, fine. She’ll deal with them when she wakes. Right now? Right now she gets to watch her lover dance in the cool waves of the Force. And maybe, if she’s very very lucky, she’ll get to join in.

 

 

 

Two years of practice at flying an X-wing and a lifetime of discipline are all that keep Finn from skipping steps in his haste to land at the new base site. He hurls himself out of _Freedom One_ , races to the newly erected control tent, salutes Leia, and rushes through the fastest debriefing he’s ever done.

Leia blinks. “A third Interdictor,” she says at last. “I can’t wait.” Her lips quirk up. “Well done, Major Finn. Very well done.” She waves a hand at him in dismissal. “Thank you for debriefing. I’d still like to hear an in-person report of the situation on Moonreach, as well as a full report of your part in the battle, but that can wait until you've slept. You’re relieved of duty for the time being. Go, rest. I believe Dameron’s in second triage.”

“He’s—” Finn hugs Leia with all his strength, unable to smother a giddy grin.

“Get out of here, pilot.” Leia’s face eases into an answering smile. “You did good work today. Now go get some rest.”

“General.” Finn clears his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it. _TyrikPhasmaHuxMOONREACH—_

“Finn.” Leia sets a hand on his arm. He swallows hard. “We’ll talk.” Finn nods. “But right now—when’s the last time you slept?”

Finn blinks at her. “I have no idea.”

Her smile quirks up, crooked. _“Rest,”_ she says.

Sometimes—sickening as the thought is—it’s comforting to just obey an order. “Yes, General.” Finn salutes, spins on his heel, and leaves the tent.

The moment he’s outside, in the crisp cliffside air, he races towards the medical zone. With an additional two thousand Stormtroopers—none of whom have any medical training, of course—and without one of the medical transports, which went down early in the battle, which went down early—the ratio of medics to soldiers is abysmal. Lines of casualties, mostly those who were caught in the bombing before making it to a transport, stretch out along the open air by the cliffs. The remaining able-bodied fighters are setting up tents, but for now those will only serve as a clean surgical space for those with immediately life-threatening injuries. Shuttles from the _Subjugator_ are starting to break atmo far above the base, ready to be interrogated by Luke.

Finn spares only a moment's glance toward the sea, far below—the sea! it never gets old— before grabbing the nearest meddroid. “Poe,” he pants. “Commander Dameron. Is he here?”

After a brief scroll down its internal database, the droid responds: [TRIAGE 2 LINE 3 SECTION 5 UNIT 28]

“Thanks.” Finn sets off down the lines at a trot, scanning the rows of wounded for his pilot. Medics and meddroids are slowly working their way down the first triage section, the brink-of-death-or-dismemberment line. Second triage is, for now, only being tended by a few fighters bearing water. Where—where—

 _There._  

Poe’s lying in the second triage line, eyes closed, body still, covered in blood.

 _“POE!”_ Finn’s voice cracks. He races to Poe’s side and grabs for his wrist. His hands are shaking almost too hard to get a pulse, but that’s ok, because Poe’s chest is rising and falling with each breath, and he’s starting to blink awake.

“Hey, buddy,” Poe croaks.

“Poe.” Finn’s hands fly over Poe’s body, checking for injury. “ _Poe_. Are you—are you—”

“It’s not mine,” Poe says, seeing the horrified pinch in Finn’s brow. “The blood, I mean. Arm, ribs, that’s all. Don’t worry.”

“‘Don’t worry’?” Finn looks up at the sky. “‘Don’t worry,’ you say.” He looks back down at Poe and sweeps Poe’s hair off his forehead with an unsteady hand. “Poe. You fucker. You absolute _fucker!_ What in the galaxy _possessed_ you to ram straight into a bomber?”

“I had to.” Poe’s smiling up at him, an unspeakable fondness in his eyes. “Only way to save her. All of them. What else could I have done?” He gives a tiny, one-shouldered shrug. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His breath shakes.

“You’re laughing.” Finn leans in to press the softest of kisses to his forehead, nose, lips. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

“I don’t know what else to do.” Poe reaches up to Finn with his good hand. Finn takes it, grips it tightly enough to crush it. “I’m sorry,” Poe whispers. “I really am. I’m so tired. I had to save them, Finn, this is what I do, I—”

“I know.” Finn cups Poe’s face to his and kisses him for all he’s worth. “I know,” he rasps, throat aching. “And I still hate you.”

“Well.” Poe smiles up at him, exhausted and grimy. “That’s fair. You can wrap me up in blankets now, ok? For as long as you want.”

Finn snorts. “Until the next battle.”

Poe’s smile slides into a lopsided grin. “Yeah. Well. But you. Moonreach. You’re ok? What—”

Finn shakes his head. He’s not sure what his face looks like, but it’s probably an unauthorized expression.

“Buddy.” Poe reaches up, strokes Finn’s head. Crumbles of ash fall between his fingers. “You’re covered. Ash. Explosions? You’re ok? We heard—” Poe’s not really sure he’s making sense anymore. Between the fierce throb of his arm, the answering pulse between his temples, and the sharp bite of his ribs at each breath, there’s not much room in his head for nice things like full sentences. “Buddy,” he says, and that’s about all the words he’s got right now.

Finn shakes his head.

“Come here.” Poe shifts over, very carefully, and pats the ground next to him.

Finn slides down to meet him, runs another exploratory hand down Poe’s body. Just to make sure. “The blood,” Finn’s voice is rough. “When we broke atmo, Karé said—something about—Kylo?”

“Yeah.” Poe catches Finn’s hand, brings his fingers to his lips. “He rescued me. Saved my life. Or my arm, at least. Long story,” he says, yet again. “But you—”

“Saved your _life?_ Poe? What the fuck.” Finn sits straight up, stricken, hands shaking. “Poe. Are you. Did he—”

Poe grabs Finn’s wrist. “He didn’t,” Poe says, suddenly hoarse. He tugs Finn back down by his side and repeats the words, quieter. “He didn’t. Not now. Not—ever.”

Finn stares at Poe, eyes still red-rimmed with ash. _He didn’t,_ Finn mouths, as though trying on the words to see if they fit. “How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“And you trust him? Poe—”

“He said he’d say the same in front of Rey. And I might ask him to, someday. Although I don’t want her to have to deal with any of it. But Finn, I—yes. I do trust him. On this.”

Finn’s still staring at Poe, wide-eyed. “You’re ok?” he rasps. He cups Poe’s face to him with one trembling hand. “My love. You’re ok.”

Poe nods. Blinking rapidly does nothing to dispel the sting in his eyes. “He didn’t,” Finn whispers. “He didn’t. Oh, Poe.” He presses his forehead to Poe’s shoulder. “I’m so glad,” he whispers, as though the words could possibly express even a fraction of his relief. After a moment, he adds, “But this doesn’t change anything. He still—”

“It does change things,” Poe interrupts. “Yes, he still—he—he’s done so many horrible things. To so many people. And I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him. But, Finn.”

The words are even harder to say than he thought they’d be. “I.” He clears his throat roughly. “Shot down.” Drags in a breath. “Iolo.” It’s only when Finn lifts a gentle finger to swipe at his cheek that Poe realizes he is crying. “The Freedom Squadron,” he adds, hoarse. “Flew at my command. But I was forgiven. In the trial. And we welcomed them in. Despite. Everything they’d—we’d—done.” He closes his eyes for a moment and tries to breathe. “I think,” Poe rasps. “He deserves. The same.”

“But he had a choice!” Finn bursts out. “Like Hux. He—”

“I don’t know how much of a choice he had. He was born Dark. He’s fought it his whole life, Rey says. _He_ says. Maybe this is the first time he’s been able to choose to protect, not destroy. I don’t know, Finn. I don’t know what it feels like to be pulled by the Dark side. None of us do. The only thing we can do is—” Poe starts to shrug, stops when his arm and ribs start screaming at him. “Let him. Start fresh. Or kill him. I’d rather let him try again.”

“If he—”

“Fucks up again then I will kill him.” Poe’s jaw clenches over the words. “Or step back and let Rey finish him off for me. But for now. He’s trying to do the right thing. So I will try to believe him.”

Finn stares at Poe for a long time, face unreadable.

“Still don’t understand me?” The corner of Poe’s mouth quirks up.

“No,” Finn says, very slowly. “I do. I think this time I do.”

“Well.” Poe relaxes back a fraction, unreasonably pleased. “Good. I’m glad. Are you done distracting me now? Finn. You’re not—hurt? You look like the world ended.”

“Well.” Finn bites his lip, hard, against the sting in his eyes. “It did.” He leans his forehead against Poe’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Poe shifts awkwardly, trying to wrap his arm around his lover. Finn shifts up, lets Poe’s arm slide beneath his shoulders and pull him closer.

“Starkiller,” Finn rasps at last. “That was self-defense. They were going to kill us. This?” He clears his throat, clears it again. There’s something stuck in it, something huge and hot and aching. “This was just slaughter. Like banthas. Body parts, armor, burning, they—they—We have to destroy the Order,” Finn growls. “And we will. Hux is gone. Forever. Out of here. Dead.” He bites off the word. “Finished. And so are they. The Order’s just shards now. A few ships, a few bases. A general or two. No Interdictors left. We’re going to crush them,” he says, hands closing into fists. “Anyone who still believes. That it’s right. To kill those who never chose to fight.”

“With you there, buddy.” Poe blinks stinging eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He strokes Finn’s head for a moment, lets his lover breathe—jolts at a sudden thought. “But—wait,” he says. “What do you mean, Hux is gone? Nerro reported that you didn’t find his body.”

“No,” Finn mumbles against Poe’s shoulder. “Bunch of loyalists sprung him out before the bombardment. He was on the Interdictor.”

“What Interdictor? We shot them both down.”

“The third one. Over the base.”

“What do you mean, the third one? You just got here. When were you at the base?”

Finn picks his head up. “After you deliberately crashed your fucking ship, that’s when.”

“Oh.” As the thought settles, Poe jerks back. Grabs Finn’s jaw, lifts it so he can see his face. “You were at the battle. You were— _shit._ Wait. What? I thought you were still in hyper. Coming back from Moonreach. I wasn’t worried about you. What do you mean, you were—”

“Are you done yet?” Finn closes his eyes and sinks his head back down. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he last slept.

“Buddy.” Poe swallows. “What happened? You—” He shakes his head. “Wait. No. Sleep. You must be exhausted.”

“Mmm.” Finn nods into Poe’s shoulder. He falls silent. Poe lets his head drop back down to the cool earth. Closes his eyes. He’s halfway asleep when Finn says, “Phasma.”

Poe startles awake. “What?” He looks down. Finn’s still halfway curled around him, hand on his shoulder. Staring at the ground, eyes wide and lost.

“We got back just as another Interdictor dropped out of hyper. The _Subjugator._ They surrendered to us. Phasma.” Finn slowly shakes his head. “Was in charge of the mutiny.”

 _“What?”_ Poe lets his hand slide down to Finn’s back, rubs small circles into through his sweat-soaked shirt.

“I don’t even know what to think,” Finn whispers. “I never wanted to see her again. But she—she’s on our side now? And Tyrik.” Finn’s voice cracks. “ _Tyrik._ He started the mutiny _._ Shot Hux. I don’t—I—he sold us out, betrayed us, I—he’s the reason you—you—”

“ _I’m_ not the one he hurt most,” Poe murmurs.

Finn shakes his head. “Still.” His voice is thick. “He was my wingman. And he betrayed us. And now he’s back. And he killed Hux, they had him as prisoner, Tyrik shot him—” Finn stops. “I don’t even know what to think.”

“I’m so sorry,” Poe murmurs. “About Tyrik. Phasma. Moonreach. Finn, I—I’m so sorry. It’s horrible, what they did. I know—”

“You don’t,” Finn interrupts, savage and hoarse. “You _don’t_ know. They’re white armor, to you. Maybe even white armor with people inside, maybe— _maybe_ even people, sometimes. They’re my people, Poe _. My people._ And they killed them. They killed them _all_. Murdered, bombed, loyalists, rebels—they—they—”

Finn presses his face into Poe’s shoulder and screams, completely silent, eyes burning.

Poe covers Finn’s head with a trembling hand. Stares up to the sky, stricken. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He leans his forehead down to meet his lover’s. “I’m so sorry.” Poe tightens his arm around Finn’s shoulders, heart cracking open. _If I could bring them back to life,_ he thinks. _If I could free them all. I would, oh Force, I would, just to ease your pain._ ”Oh, Finn,” he whispers. His throat aches. “My love. I’m so sorry.”

Finn’s hand tightens on Poe’ arm, hard enough to hurt. “I don’t,” he says, face still buried in Poe’s shoulder. “Know what. To think. I can’t. I don’t. I—”

Poe grips Finn’s jaw and tilts his face up until he finally meets Poe’s eyes. “Then sleep,” Poe says. “Come rest.”

“No,” Finn growls. _“NO.”_ He pushes to his feet. “You’re safe. Right? You’re okay.” His voice is raw.

“I’m ok, buddy, I’m fine, but _you_ , you need to rest—”

“Good.” Finn cuts him off, face barred with durasteel. “That’s—good. I’m glad you’re ok.” He drops to his knees again, leans over Poe, and cups Poe’s face in shaking hands. Poe stretches up towards him, needing—needing—

Finn kisses him hard. Poe wraps an arm around Finn’s back and pulls him in close, heedless of his broken ribs, breath short and pained and frayed. His fingers clench on Finn’s back. Finn grabs Poe’s hair, pulls it tight to his scalp. Poe’s lips taste like tears and sweat and maybe a little blood. He’s not really sure whose tears, or whether it really matters. “Poe,” he says at last, leaning his forehead against his lover’s. “I’m glad. That you’re okay. So glad.”

Poe takes shallow, careful breaths, eyes closed. He runs his thumb over Finn’s cheek. “Buddy,” he whispers. He takes another half-breath and lets it out. “I love you.” His eyes flick open. “You’ll be okay too. Hold onto that.”

Finn’s breath hitches. “You’ll. Hold onto it. For me?”

Poe’s mouth crooks into a smile. “I can do that,” he says, voice soft. “As long as you need.”

Finn nods. “Good.” He pushes to his feet, slow and aching, and looks down at Poe. He rests his eyes for a moment on his lover’s familiar features, alive and safe and mostly whole. He nods again and closes his hands into fists. “I love you too,” he says. “I’ll—” He turns toward Leia’s tent. “Be back. Soon.”

 

 

 

Leia looks Finn up and down. “I’m fairly certain I ordered you to rest.”

“I’m fairly certain we’re allowed to think for ourselves.” Finn looks her in the eye, jaw tight, heart aching.

Leia’s face relaxes into a fond smile. “Well,” she says. “In that case. Glad to have you back with us. Do you think you’d like to sit, at least, and drink some water?”

Finn nods. Lets himself sink down beside her. Carefully leans back against a tent pole.

Leia motions to PZ-4CO. “Record, please.” She reaches for a water pak in the box beside her, hands it to him, and taps on her datapad. “So.”

“So.” Finn takes a deep breath and starts his report.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs are, as always, available in the comments.


	26. welcome home, my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****************************************
> 
>  
> 
> _mere zakhmon ko teri chhuan chahiye_  
>  _mere shamma ko teri agan chahiye_  
>  _mere khwaab ke aashiyane mein tu chahiye_  
>  _main kholun jo aankhein sirhaane bhi tu chahiye_
> 
> my wounds need your touch  
> my candle needs your fire  
> the house of my dreams needs you  
> every time I open my eyes, I want you facing me  
>  _— Tu Chahiye (Pritam, Bajrangi Bhaijaan)_
> 
>  
> 
> ****************************************
> 
> ***TW: non-graphic surgery, injured characters, outdoor funtimez (Endor-style, if you know what I mean), but all remains quite private, don’t worry.

“Thank you for your report, Major Finn.” Leia signals to PZ-4CO to stop recording. “And for your thoughts on Tyrik’s situation. I’ll have him brought in to discuss the deal. I’ll comm you to let you know what he chooses.”

“Thank you.” Finn stretches his stiff limbs. “Have you heard from Luke yet?”

“He’s still interrogating the troopers on the _Subjugator._ He commed in just before you came back in here. Says that Phasma’s interested in working with the Freedom Campaign, focusing on the officers.”

Finn raises a brow. “That…will be interesting.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to work with her?” Leia’s eyes are alarmingly direct.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Leia looks at him for a moment. Nods. “Well. You’ll tell me if it’s not all right.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Leia smiles at him. “Now. Will you _please_ go rest?”

“Will you?”

“When I can,” she says, staring down at the datapad.

Finn nods. He stands, then hesitates. “Poe said.” Leia’s eyes flick up to his. Finn clears his throat. “That Kylo saved him.”

Leia’s lips tremble upwards. Finn smiles at her. “There’s hope,” he says, very quiet. “Yeah?”

“There is,” Leia rasps. The sleeve of her tunic rumples into loose folds as she rubs the old blaster scar on her upper arm. She clears her throat. “There always is.”

 

 

 

Droids, medics, and the uninjured move from body to body, offering water, checking vitals, changing bandages, doing small surgeries. Smoke still rises from the distant funeral pyre and from more than a few damaged starfighter engines, clouding the air with the choking smell of nerf cooked in a badly ventilated kitchen. Cries of pain and reunion mingle in the clouds of smoke, echoing between the grounded ships. Finn steps carefully between the long rows of wounded, searching for a familiar figure—oh, there he is. Between his thoughts of _oh, he’s asleep now_ and _I’ll come back when he’s awake again_ , however, the man’s eyes snap open and fix on him. Finn startles backward, then approaches.

Kylo stares up at him, wary.

“I’d like to thank you,” Finn says, forcefully unclasping his hands from parade rest and letting them hang by his sides instead. “For saving Poe’s life.”

Kylo’s lips twitch. “If I’d known all I needed to do was to save the damn pilot’s life, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

_If you had, dumbass, none of this shit would have ever happened._

On the other hand, he’d never have met Poe or Rey, so… On the other hand, Kylo actually had saved Poe’s life, long ago. Or at least not killed him. Yet. “Why didn’t you kill him?” Finn asks. “On the Finalizer.”

Kylo stares up at him, silent. “I’m not sure,” he mutters at last.

Finn nods. “Well. Thanks. Anyway.”

“You’re welcome.” Kylo stares up at the sky beyond Finn’s head, stiff and closed.

“Ok. Well.” As a pair of medics finally arrive at Kylo’s side, Finn turns to leave. He starts back down the line of wounded, careful not to step on anyone or anything.  

A few paces behind him, he can hear one of the medics apologize: “We’re out of sedatives and painkillers. The pilots should be back soon from the supply run, but that tourniquet needs to come off _now,_ if you’d like to keep that leg.”

“I’d be a real Skywalker without it,” Kylo mutters.

Finn snorts, picks his way around a pair of arguing meddroids.

“I’m fine.” Kylo clears his throat. “Go ahead.”

Finn, halfway down the line of wounded, stops short. Turns around. The medics are kneeling by Kylo’s leg, peeling back the last layer of bloodsoaked bandages. They probe carefully at the durasteel shard embedded in his thigh. Kylo’s hands are fists at his side.

Finn walks back down the row to Kylo’s side. The ex-Darksider looks up at him, wary. “Do you want to hold my hand while they stitch you up?” Finn asks.

“I’m not a child.”

Finn waits.

“ _No_. Pain doesn’t bother me.”

“I know that,” Finn says, very dry. “Not something I’ll forget anytime soon.”

Kylo’s lips twitch.

“It’s the least I can do, ok?” Finn scrubs a hand over his hair. “You saved Poe’s life. I—thanks doesn’t even begin to cover it. Neither does hand-holding, really, but it seems like a good place to start.”

Kylo flaps a hand at his side, dismissive. “I’ll be _fine_. Go back to your pilot.”

Finn turns to go, hesitates, turns back. “Look, if you really want me to go, I’ll go. But—no one here will scorn you for being in pain. You get that, right?”

Kylo’s eyes flick up to his again.

Finn’s mouth quirks up at one end. “I would know,” he adds.

Kylo snorts.

Finn holds out a hand. Kylo stares at it.

Silence.

Kylo nods.

Finn settles down by Kylo’s side. Kylo slowly reaches over and clasps the outstretched hand in his. His eyes flick away from Finn’s.

“All set?” the first medic asks. Kylo nods. “Ok, good. We’re going to take the shard out, clean out the wound, apply bacta, stitch it, and wrap it back up. It’ll hurt like a nexu attack, but it’ll be over soon enough. Oh, and you’ll want to hold Finn’s _arm_ , not his hand. I don’t have time to set more broken bones.”

“Nexu attacked me, I’d slice its banthafucking head off,” Kylo mutters, but he switches his grip accordingly. Finn suppresses a relieved sigh. Hands are just very _personal,_ and he has far too much _personal_ ire against the ex-Darksider to be comfortable being quite that close.

“Oh, and here—” The second medic hands him a small leather square. “You’ll want something to bite down on.”

Kylo raises a brow. “I knew the Resistance was barbaric, but this? What era are we in again?” The medic raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t react to the barb. Finn has a feeling this is not the first such comment they’ve heard in the last few hours. “Ok, fine.” Kylo grabs the square and bites down hard.

“Three—two—one—” The medics pull the shard out. Kylo’s grip tightens instinctively on Finn’s arm, hard enough to leave bruises for weeks. Finn clenches his teeth and lets him. Bacta. Stitches. Kylo’s eyes track back and forth beneath tightly closed lids. More bacta. Sweat builds on his forehead. Bandages. Finn’s eyes land on a prominent vein on Kylo’s forehead, so much like the one that sticks out on Poe’s forehead when he's in pain. Tourniquet off.

At last it’s over. The moment Kylo’s stable, the medics head off down the line, moving on to the next badly injured patient who needs their help. Kylo’s fingers unclench from Finn’s arm one by one, leaving deep marks in their place. When he opens his eyes at last, his expression is closed as ever. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.” Finn hesitates. “Is there anything else you need?”

“ _No!_ Go. Find your pilot. You’ve fulfilled your duties here.”

“It’s not a _duty_ to me.” Finn leans in, intense. “It’s a _choice_ . And it’s a choice I’m going to make again, assuming you don’t revert back to trying to kill us. I was willing to try to accept you as Resistance once you came back, freed Poe, and started to help us. Now—now—you’re more than that. It _does_ change things, you saving Poe’s life. You didn’t have to. You did it anyway. It means a lot to me. This wasn’t—this wasn’t payment. This is what—” _ok, maybe_ friends _is going a little too far, but—_ “allies do for each other. Comrades.” He grins. “In the barbaric Resistance, at least.”

Kylo looks at Finn. He blinks. Blinks again. Blinks harder. “Thank you,” he says at last, very quiet. “Now.” He closes his eyes and turns his head away. “Go back to your pilot, before he does something stupid.”

Finn grins, low and broad. “Nice to meet you too, Kylo.” He pushes himself to his feet, stretches—rubs his sore arm—checks his comm, and heads back to his pilot.

 

 

 

Tyrik scrambles to his feet and stands at attention. “Captain—Major. Finn. Good evening.”

“At ease, Tyrik. You’re not under my command anymore.”

Tyrik nods, but does not relax. Finn recognizes the frenzy of spikes of Tyrik’s hair from when he’d pace the hangar on sleepless nights, clawing back through his hair as though it would get the feelings out of his head.

“General Organa said that the shuttle leaves tomorrow,” Finn says.

Tyrik nods again.

“You didn’t want to stay, and—”

“No. I—” Tyrik’s fingers pinch at the hem of his shirt. “I took the general’s deal. I don’t want to fight. Ever again.”

Finn nods. “I understand. Nerro wants to talk to you. If you’re willing.”

 _“What?”_ Tyrik’s brows rise to his hairline. “Why in the galaxy—”

“We’d like your input, before you leave. On how to convince troopers to rebel. Phasma says that you led the uprising on the _Subjugator_. That all she had to do was round up the officers and convince them to join. Or shoot them.”

Tyrik stares at Finn. “I’m still a traitor to both sides.”

“You are.” Finn holds his gaze. “And I am _furious_.” He bites the word. “That you betrayed us. I—” He unclenches his fists and clasps his hands before him instead. “And I may always be furious,” he says at last, voice level again. “But. You acted to protect the ones you love. I am—” He takes a deep breath. “I am the last one who should hold that against you.”

Tyrik’s eyes widen. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, for the fiftieth time since he removed his helmet on the _Falcon._ “I’m so sorry.”

Finn nods. “I know. And I might forgive you, someday.” His shoulders lift up, down. “Until then, the only thing you can do is try to do whatever good you can.”

“You’re guilt-tripping me into joining the Freedom Campaign.”

Finn beams at him. “See, this is why I missed you.”

“I don’t want to stay,” Tyrik’s voice scrapes against his throat. “The way they look at me. It—” His shoulders hunch even further inward, if possible.

“You don’t have to stay. There will be plenty of shuttles. You can leave whenever you want to.”

“After being interrogated by Luke again.”

“Yes.”

Tyrik stares at his boots. The crisp black leather is scuffed with earth-dust, streaked with muck where the boots sink into the red clay soil of the cliffs. “I missed you too,” he rasps at last.

Finn sets a hand on his shoulder.

Tyrik looks at it. “Major,” he says.

Finn waits.

“Do you think we can win.”

“Do you?” Finn asks, voice soft.

Tyrik’s lips press into a tense line. “We have to.”

Finn nods. “Then we will.”

Tyrik sets a hand over Finn’s. Looks at him. Moves his hand to his chest in a Resistance salute, drops it back down to his side. “Major Finn,” he says. “I look forward to it.”

Finn smiles, or tries to. “Good.” He claps Tyrik on the shoulder. “Tomorrow morning. 0700. The Freedom Campaign’s got a tent in the control row, third down the line from the general’s. Meet us there.” He turns on his heel and leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Tyrik says, yet again. The words fumble among the dried leaves on the ground, tripping over roots and small rocks.

Finn stops. Stares into the woods. Slowly he turns and looks back at Tyrik. “Good,” he says.

Tyrik looks at him in silence.

Finn’s hands twist into knots. “There were eighty-five thousand Stormtroopers on Starkiller,” he says.

Tyrik blinks.

“Thanks to me,” Finn says, “they’re all dead.” The wind picks up above their heads. “With the Freedom Campaign, almost three thousand former troopers are now free.” Finn spreads his hands by his sides, palms up, fingers splayed through the musky air. “Do you think that’s a good enough trade?”

Tyrik’s eyes follow his hands, tracking light and shadow beneath the trees. At last his eyes return to Finn’s.

“Guilt,” Finn says, “is a powerful motivator.”

Tyrik nods.

“Tomorrow morning. 0700. Be there.”

“I will,” Tyrik says.

Finn nods. “Good night.” He walks back toward the triage lines with even, deliberate steps.

 

 

 

Poe’s asleep when he arrives, chest slowly rising and falling, eyelids flickering with a dream. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes reassure Finn that it’s a good dream, not a nightmare, so he settles himself down beside Poe as quietly as he can. For a long time, he just watches Poe sleep, taking comfort in the soft rise and fall of his husband’s chest.

At last he curls on his side, tucks his head into his arm, and lets his own eyes slip shut at last.

 

 

 

The distant roar of an ion engine knocks Poe from a fascinating dream featuring Finn and himself and a hammock. He squints: a cloud of dust rises around a half-squadron of X-wings and a freighter as they land by the control tents. Medical supplies, most likely. And possibly a team of hastily recruited medics. Good.

 

 

 

Well, ok, it’s not great that the medics reach him before the painkillers do—they started distributing the few hypos they were able to procure through first triage, of course. But Finn is there to hold his hand, with an inscrutable smile on his face, and to wipe the sweat off his brow when the medics move on at last, leaving a neatly splinted arm in their wake.

“We can leave now,” Poe coughs at last, handing the waterpak back to Finn. “The triage line. Make—camp. Somewhere.” He waves a hand at the fighters around them, trickling out into the woods in small packs.

Finn nods. He drinks, pours some water over his head, scrubs most of the remaining ash off his face, and drinks again. “Yeah,” he says at last.

“You need a real night’s sleep,” Poe says softly. “You’re not going to get that out here. Not with all this.” He nods at the chaos of the triage line—bustling medics, whirring droids, groaning patients.

“I should be helping. They still need—”

“Finn.” Poe waits until his husband looks down at him again. “You _need_ to rest,” he says. “That’s not an order. That’s a request, please, from someone who loves you and will not be able to catch you properly when you keel over.”

Finn snorts a laugh at that. “Well,” he says. He recaps the waterpak and clips it to his belt. “Blankets? Food?”

Poe nods. “I can find us a private spot in the forest. Start making a fire. There should be plenty of kindling out there.”

Finn nods. “Ok. I’ll go to the quartermaster, then. I think there should be some supplies left.” He pushes carefully to his feet and leaves.

Poe stares after him for a long time, brow furrowed.

 

 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Poe asks.

Finn looks at him. The leaping flames highlight the haggard lines of his face.

“Come,” Poe says. He reaches an arm out to his husband, shifts against the broad trunk of the tree to make room by his side.

After a moment, Finn slides over to him. Poe wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close. Finn’s careful to let the tree, not Poe’s ribs, support his weight. He leans his head against Poe’s shoulder. Something in him starts to loosen at the contact.

“Do you think we’ll win?” The crackle-hiss of the fire almost covers Finn’s quiet words.

“Of course.” There’s not doubt in Poe’s voice. “We’ve got an Interdictor now, and they’re down three. The Freedom Campaign’s taking off like an ion cannon—an entire _base,_ Finn. _And_ an entire destroyer. Won’t be long until you convince them all to free themselves.”

“Mmm.”

“What’s bothering you?” Poe asks, very soft.

Finn shakes his head.

“Buddy.” Poe twists to see Finn’s face. He rubs his thumb across the gentle rise of Finn’s chest, up and over his clavicle, into the divot beneath his shoulder. The sigh of Finn’s breath echoes in time with the rustle of the branches overhead. Even this deep in the forest, the air is crisp with salt, or maybe that’s just the tang of the sweat and tears on their skin.

Finn’s staring out across the clearing, eyes blank. “No one will mourn them,” he murmurs at last. The gauze of Poe’s bandages muffles his words.

Poe swallows. “Cor mourns them. And all the survivors, they all—”

“Not Moonreach,” Finn snaps. “The two Interdictors. Forty thousand troopers on each. All of them shot to stardust.”

“Finn—”

“Without a name.” Finn shoves to his feet and punches the trunk of the tree. Poe flinches back from the sudden scatterfall of bark and leaf fragments. “It doesn’t matter how fast the Freedom Campaign moves. We can reach a thousand, another thousand, half a base, another ship— _how many more troopers are out there?”_ Finn’s voice cracks. “So many. Too many. And the children, Poe, the _children._ Every time we destroy a ship, they invade a new planet and steal their children.”

Poe rises slowly to his feet and braces himself against the tree, silent.

“It’s never enough,” Finn growls. “It’s never going to be enough. Everyone we reach. Every trooper who finds a way to break free. There’s a hundred more who will die without ever having touched another human being. In love, not violence. Hundreds—and thousands—and millions—”

Finn’s hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Everyone on Moonreach. Troopers and officers and ground crew. The five thousand loyalists who died in the fight. The five thousand who died in the bombings. I killed them, Poe. No hiding behind ‘oh, you fired the final shot on Starkiller.’ ‘Oh, the rest of the squadron shot at them too.’ _I killed them.”_

“But Nerro, and Cor—”

“They’d never have done it if I hadn’t started this.”

“If you hadn’t, those troopers would never have been free,” Poe says, very quiet. “None of them. Not even for those few hours before the bombings.”

Finn stops pacing. He stares at the trees, rough slags of bark and cascades of fire-hued leaves.

“What it comes down to, Finn,” Poe says, very quiet. “They chose to free themselves. You encouraged them, you created the opportunity, but they made the decision.”

Finn shakes his head. “That’s a copout—”

“That’s the _truth,”_ Poe bites. “They made a choice. Same as you. Finn. When I woke up on Jakku. Realized I had killed you.” He clears his throat. Clears it again, roughly. “That’s what I held onto. That it had been your choice to try to break free. That you knew the risks. And that you had died a free man. With your own name.”

Finn turns. Looks at him.

“I hoped.” Poe’s throat aches. “That it had been worth it. For you.”

Finn stares down into the fire. The leaping flames glint across the weary slope of his cheekbones. He kicks at the rocks surrounding the crackling firepit. Sparks scatter up from the gnarled logs. The raw tension in his face wavers, hardens, wavers again. “It would have been worth it,” he whispers at last, voice scraping against the leaves.

Poe reaches towards to his beloved.

Finn’s body leans closer, automatically, pulled by Poe’s gravity, then snaps back. “What can we do?” he rasps at last. “What can we possibly do?”

“We keep trying.” The words burn their way down Poe’s throat.

Finn closes his eyes. His lips tremble.

“Buddy,” Poe croaks. Finn stumbles back to him. Trips forward into his arms. Pins Poe against the tree, careful of his ribs and arm and not much else. His breath shudders against Poe’s shoulders. Poe grips Finn as tightly as he can with his good arm, cradles the back of Finn’s head with a gentle hand.

“First Order has records,” Poe murmurs. “Right? Of everything.”

Finn pulls back. “What? Of course.”

“Of all of the troopers? And their designations, and assignments?”

“Yeah, but—why—”

“So when we win. You can find their designations, and mourn them properly. Make a memorial for everyone you couldn't reach in time.”

Finn cups Poe’s face between his hands. His features are hard to make out in the dusky evening, but there’s a bright current of—of—hope?

Finn touches his lips to Poe’s, just a hint of a kiss. “Yeah,” he whispers. “We could.” He drags in a deep breath, lets it out. Nods. “We will.”

 

 

 

Poe’s breath cuts short as he tries to scoot closer to Finn, only to be stymied by a sudden flare of pain in his ribs. His muted grunt rouses Finn, who blearily turns towards Poe.

“Oh,” he mumbles, and slides into Poe’s side, careful not to jar him.

Poe sighs at the warmth of his skin. “Yes,” he mumbles back, nuzzling into Finn’s neck. “Very yes.”

Finn chuckles and runs a gentle hand over Poe’s hair. The firelight flickers across their blankets, standard Resistance olive green and scratchy as a bantha’s hide. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he murmurs, ducking his head to avoid Poe’s gaze.

“Me too,” Poe whispers. Finn laughs. Poe finds Finn’s other hand, trapped between them, and holds it tight. “And. You too.” He doesn’t have any laughs left to soften the words. “I—I’m glad,” is all he says. “I’m glad.”

Poe leans back for a moment and stares up at the stars. They’re very far away, as usual, but astonishingly bright, nearly as bright as they were on Jakku or as they always are in space. It’ll be a bit duller at night once the base gets set up around them, lights and all, but he’ll have _Black One_ to work on then, and Finn to come home to once he’s ready to go back to sleep.

Finn. Poe turns back to him. Finn’s looking up at the stars too, gaze distant and thoughtful. “What are you thinking about?” Poe asks, voice scratching in his throat.

Finn turns to him. “Many of those planets out there, orbiting many of those stars, are covered in little Stormtrooper children.”

“Yeah.”

“One of them is going to be ours someday.”

“One planet?” Poe grins.

Finn whacks his shoulder. “One ex-Stormtrooper child, nerfherder.”

“Only one?”

Finn shrugs. “How many do you want?”

Poe considers this, squinting upwards as though he can see the distant planets. “I don’t know. How many do _you_ want? Two? Three? Four? We could run an orphanage, if there are enough of them. Think you could handle that?”

Finn gives him a side-eye. “No.”

“Huh,” Poe says.

“Maybe.”

“It’s ok, we don’t have to.”

“What would we call it?”

“…Resistance Children Home,” Poe offers.

Finn looks at him.

Poe ducks his head into Finn’s shoulder. “I’ll be awake tomorrow, ok?”

“It’s ok, Poe.” Finn laughs into Poe’s hair. “Never thought I’d finally find you without any words to toss around. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” Poe picks his head up again and looks at his husband. Finn’s cheekbones glint silver in the moonlight. Poe wants to touch them, so badly, wants to run his thumb down them, but his free hand is trapped between them, entwined with Finn’s, and he’s not sure he could get the angle right even if he dropped Finn’s hand. “You’re a good man,” he says. “Always have been. You know that, right?”

Finn laughs. His eyes reflect back the tiniest bit of starlight, a flash of light above his iris. “Uh-oh.”

“Good at a lot of things,” Poe adds.

Finn narrows his eyes at Poe. “What.”

“I mean, you’re a good shot, and a good pilot, and a good leader, and—”

“Poe. What.”

“And you’re good at coming silently, aren’t you? I mean, out of practice, maybe. But you used to be able to do it, right?”

“Poe.”

Poe grins. “We’re deep in the woods. Far away from everyone else. If I cover us with the blanket, it’s just like camping. No one will see. Perfectly decent. If you’re silent, no one will ever know. Like fucking in a supply closet.”

“I thought we had agreed not to do that again.”

“Because _I_ am incapable of coming silently. But that’s my problem. And orgasms and broken ribs are about as incompatible as panic attacks and broken ribs, so I won’t be up for much anyway. So. Yes?”

Finn muffles his laugh in his free hand. “You,” he says. “Where do you even _come_ from?”

“I have told you my dad’s stories about Endor, yes?”

“I still can’t believe he told you that.”

“Well, ok, he didn’t know he was telling me, but he should have known better than to tell stories about drinking and sex in a house with a teenage boy. Even if— _especially_ if—he thought said boy was out of the house at the time. That’s just poor judgement.”

“Poe, you’re usually a reasonable person, so—”

“Am not.” Poe flashes a devilish smirk at Finn. “You just happened to meet me when I was already old and half-grey. You know that people are fucking at easily half the fires around here.”

“You’re crazy.”

“If I am, then so was Leia on Endor.”

Finn holds up a hand. “I really didn’t need to hear that.”

“Look. If you don’t want to, we won’t. Absolutely fine. I just wanted you to know that it is a perfectly acceptable course of action right now. If you’re interested. No one is watching. Or listening. No one even cares. Everyone out here is either fucking or sleeping.”

“Of course I’m _interested_ , Poe, I just—” Finn stops. To their far right, they can hear the ends of a faint female cry that is definitely not caused by pain or wild beasts.

Poe grins.

“You are such a bad influence on me.”

“We absolutely do not have to. Sleep is also a good thing. Sleep is a great thing, in fact.”

Finn cocks his head up at the sky. Poe follows his gaze. There’s a whole new starscape to get used to here, a whole new array of constellations to trace and name. It’s an exhilarating thought. Another new world to call home.

Poe looks back down to find Finn’s eyes hot on his.

“I want to,” Finn says.

Poe cocks a brow at him. “You sure?”

In answer, Finn presses his lips to Poe’s, fierce and hungry. His tongue slips inside Poe’s mouth, sends warm tendrils down through Poe’s core. When they break apart from air, there’s a flush of heat running through his spine, not caused by the fire. Finn cups his hands around Poe’s face and leans in until their foreheads touch. “I want to,” he whispers again. “I really want to.”

“Then where’s the blanket?” Poe whispers back. Finn turns, fumbles with the scratchy folds of cloth, and hurls the far edge over Poe’s far side to cover them both. As he settles back into place, his hand slides over Poe’s crotch—“No,” Poe whispers, regretful. “I meant it about the ribs. I try to breathe any harder than this and I might throw up, which would really not be sexy.”

“But then if you can’t,” Finn protests, “it’s not fair—”

Poe presses a finger over Finn’s lips. “It’s ok with me. Really. Consider it a thank-the-Force-we’re-alive gift from me to you.”

“Seriously?” Finn cocks his head.

“Seriously.”

“Huh,” Finn says at last. “So. I guess I’ll just…owe you one?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Poe returns fiercely. “You are a miracle unto yourself. And I am ridiculously lucky to have you.”

“I think that’s what _I_ should be saying,” Finn rejoins. “Have said, actually.”

“You have. Multiple times. So have I. I’m saying it again because it’s still true. And if you want to give me an amazing handjob in return, sometime—” Poe grins. “There is no way I will say no to an offer like that. But right now, I feel like you might be overthinking this. I want to have really hot one-sided sex with my husband tonight because I’m really fucking glad that we made it.”

Finn blinks. “When you put it that way.” He nods, nods again. “Yeah. You’re right. I think I am overthinking this.” He grins back at Poe. “Really hot, huh?”

“Yes. Because if I have to present a formal argument to you in order to convince you to let me give you a hand job, I clearly haven’t been doing it right.”

Finn cracks up. “Poe. Oh, Poe,” he gasps. “Oh, Force. You have been doing it right. I assure you. It was one thing to come silently when it was my own fucking hand in a dismal barracks. With you? No way I’ll be able to—”

Another pair of abbreviated cries echoes faintly between the trees—two Twi’leks, from the sound of it. Poe grins at Finn. “Feel free to make all the noise you want, buddy.”

With a sigh of surrender, and one last fervent kiss, Finn curls into Poe’s side, one arm tucked beneath Poe’s head, the other hand resting gently on the warm skin of Poe’s stomach. Poe slips his good hand between them and—ok, that’s a bit more difficult one-handed than it seems—yeah, nope—Finn’s hand joins him to unfasten the knot at his fly, chuckling softly to himself. Then Poe’s spit-slicked hand is inside Finn’s pants and beneath his boxers, fingers curling around soft, velvety skin, already half-hard.

A few short strokes and Finn’s breath is already coming short, cock flush and very erect in Poe’s hand. Finn ducks his head to Poe’s shoulder. Poe pauses to add more spit and then resumes, twisting around and over the solid length again.

“Now, here’s something I’ve always wondered,” Poe muses aloud. “If you always had to stay quiet, in the barracks, why did you make so much noise our first time?”

Finn looks up at Poe, hazy-eyed. “Have you ever had sex with yourself?”

“Um.” Poe blinks down at him. “No.”

“Well, if you did, you’d understand. I dare anyone to have sex with you and keep quiet.”

“Huh. Well. I don’t normally shut up during sex, either. I think that says something about _you_ , too.”

Finn raises a brow. “Or the fact that you never shut up, period. It’s a good thing that you’re waiting until you’re healed. Maybe by that time we’ll have walls.”

“Like a wall could—”

“No,” Finn interrupts. “It won’t. They’ll know.”

Poe beams at him, astonishingly content for a man who has a burnt and broken arm and several broken ribs and will have to wait Force knows how many more days before having sex. “They will,” he agrees. “They will indeed.”

Finn shakes his head in mock dismay. “You,” he says.

“Yeah?” Poe asks, with a particularly slow stroke up Finn’s cock.

His husband’s back arches in his arms, tense with the effort of remaining quiet. “Oh, kriff,” Finn pants, nearly inaudible. “Oh, kriff.”

Poe grins. “Now _that_ ’s what I like to hear.”

Finn buries his head in Poe’s shoulder, breath hitching with desire. A log cracks on the fire and sends up a celebratory burst of sparks, illuminating the glimmer of sweat on Finn’s skin. His cock is slick with pre-cum in Poe’s hand, bobbing up and down in Poe’s tight grip. Poe’s fingers slide down to cup Finn’s balls and roll them gently against his palm. Finn’s hand shakes on Poe’s stomach.

Poe’s hand slides back down to the root of Finn’s cock and then up again, hot and tight over the silken skin. Poe turns to him, seeking—seeking—Finn kisses him back. He cups Poe’s face to him and draws him in close, closer, noses touching, breathing each other’s breath. Poe’s thumb draws lazy spirals around the head, fits beneath the ridge and presses against the spot—Finn’s breath hitches. Poe’s hand gathers speed, twists up and up and up and up until Finn’s coming apart in Poe’s arms, heart pounding, hips bucking up uncontrollably.

One last good tug, another, another—Finn presses his face against the warm skin of Poe’s neck, entire body tensing. Hot come spills over Poe’s hand as he milks Finn’s cock through the last pulses. “ _Oh, kriff—_ ” Finn slumps against Poe, boneless and shuddering.

Poe presses a kiss to Finn’s forehead with a soft smile. “My love,” he whispers. He stretches above his head to wipe his hand on the broad, soft leaves behind them and eases his arm beneath Finn to pull him closer. “Oh, my love,” he whispers.

They rest like that, panting, hearts pounding together, as the fire slowly subsides before them into a quiet pile of glowing embers. The night air is cool on their flushed skin. Poe’s heart pounds unsteadily in his chest. He watches Finn’s chest rise and fall with each soft breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” Poe whispers. He can’t lift his other arm to stroke Finn’s cheek, but it needs to be touched, he can’t just stare at it and not touch—he stretches forward to press his lips to Finn’s cheek in a series of air-light kisses. “You’re so _beautiful_ ,” he whispers. “Finn. You’re _mine_. We _won._ Do you realize how—do you—” He can’t speak.

Finn’s eyes flutter open. He raises an exhausted hand to Poe’s face, brings him close, and kisses him with all of the languid heat of his post-coital daze.

“Do _you_ realize?” Finn whispers back, voice rasping low with satisfaction. “Lying there like a statue, with the firelight—you’re—” He closes his eyes again and collapses back to Poe’s side. “You’re incredible,” he says. “You. I.” He subsides, unable to fit words to thoughts anymore. “We’re alive. Right?”

“Yeah.”

Finn nods. “That’s good,” he says.

Finn’s eyes are startlingly close, a deep warm brown that means the world to him. Poe would be able to pick that brown out of a field of browns, he thinks, dazed. Or maybe not. It’s not the color, it’s the light behind it that makes it—makes it—makes it _his._ Finn’s. Poe’s. Theirs.

“I love you,” Poe says again, because he just will never be able to say it enough.

Finn nods. “I love you too,” he says.

“No, but really,” Poe says. It’s possible that the stim-shots are wearing off now. Very possible. “I do.”

“I know, Poe,” Finn laughs. He presses his lips to Poe’s forehead. “So do I.”

“Good.”

Finn’s eyes trace the beloved curves and planes of Poe’s face. “Go to sleep,” he murmurs. “My love.”

Poe pulls Finn closer, lays his head on Finn’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. “When we adopt the Stormtrooper children.” Poe’s voice rumbles low in his chest. “We’ll. Make a home for them. On Yavin IV? Do you still want to?”

“I’d love to,” Finn murmurs. He leans his head against Poe’s.

“Good.” Poe sighs, nuzzles Finn’s hair. “I’ve been dreaming about it for two years now, after all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Flying home with you. Making a place for us, just for us, peaceful, and beautiful, and quiet, and home.”

“Home.” Finn stares up into the night sky. A tiny winged creature flits from tree to tree above them. The moons are passing over the forest canopy now, a triad of tiny crescents, nestled together like the petals of a nebula orchid. “You are my home,” Finn whispers, so quiet he’s not sure Poe heard him or not.

Poe cups Finn’s face to his and kisses him, lush and sweet and full of promise. “Then welcome home,” he whispers. “My love.”

 

 

 

The sun has not even started to consider rising by the time Rey climbs down the cliffs again. She walks down the shore until she’s out of sight of the main camp, shucks off her boots, and lowers herself into the sea. The salt water is shockingly cold, frigid as midnight on Jakku. When Rey ducks her head underwater for a moment, she could swear she can hear—creatures?—singing far beneath the waves. This ocean is teeming with wildlife in a way that the waters on Ahch-To never were. A whole new host of species to learn. It’s exhilarating.

Rey clambers up out of the water at last, numb and tingling. A large, flat rock, rising halfway up above the waves, is the perfect size to settle down onto, cross-legged, smoothing the wet folds of her tunic over her thighs. She closes her eyes, opens her hands on her knees, takes a deep breath, and lets her mind sink into the Force.

 

 

 

She jolts out of meditation—someone’s nearby.  A quiet presence, unobtrusive, watching, appreciative—lustful?

Rey smiles. “Good morning, Jess.”

“Good morning, firecat.” The presence is right behind her now. Warm arms wrap around her waist. Cold wet bare feet tuck themselves in around her legs. A sharp chin rests on her shoulder. “What’s that you said about your holo-pornos?” Jess murmurs in her ear. “They all take place by the ocean?”

“They do,” Rey laughs. She leans back into Jess’ embrace. “We’ll have to find a private spot. Maybe up the coast, among all those caves to the north. Sleep well?”

“Very,” Jess yawns. “Is getting up ridiculously early a Skywalker thing? The light’s already on in Leia’s tent.”

Rey twists around to press a swift kiss to Jess’ cheek. “Well. You’re up early, too. Does that make you a Skywalker?”

Jess shudders. “Force, I hope not.”

Rey’s quiet for a moment. “Would you ever want to be a Skywalker?” she asks.

“ _Fuck_ no! Are you crazy? Why the fuck would I want to—” Jess stops short. She grabs Rey’s shoulders and spins her around. “Rey,” she says.

Their noses nearly touch, cold and damp with salt spray from the rising tide. Rey looks at Jess, eyes wide. It’s just light enough now to see the gold sigils in Jess’ irises, the short frizzing hairs escaping her tight braid.

“If you’re asking.” Jess swallows. “If I want to be a Skywalker. The answer is no, no no no, fuck no, never, get me the fuck out of here.”

Rey nods. Her lips press into a tense line.

Jess smoothes them out with the pad of her thumb. “If you’re asking,” she rasps. “If I want to marry you—” Her face creases into the brightest smile Rey’s ever seen. “The answer is yes, yes yes yes, fuck yes, yes please, can we, please—”

Rey kisses her. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, the air is chill and dark around them, a harsh wave cracks against the rock, icy droplets soak their backs, but their chests are warm, pressed against each other, wrapped in each other’s arms. When Jess cups Rey’s face closer, she can feel the incandescent lines of her lover’s smile curving beneath her fingers. Rey shifts into Jess’ lap, wraps her legs around Jess’ waist, slips her hands underneath the wet hem of Jess’ uniform underblacks, and presses her palms against the blazing-hot skin of her lover’s waist.

 

 

 

Finn slides out of Poe’s arms as quietly as he can. Poe’s breath hitches, then steadies out again. A few curls dangle into his eyes. Finn’s fingers twitch with the need to sweep them aside. He resists the urge, not wanting to wake his lover. He taps out a quick note for Poe instead on the new comm he requisitioned from the quartermaster, sets it down by his lover’s side, and slips off through the woods. He heads toward the section of camp spiked with piles of discarded white armor, scanning the clusters of bedrolls for—no, there she is. Finn swerves towards the cliffs.

Cor sits at the edge, booted feet dangling over the crumbling blood-red rocks. She looks out over the ocean as though she has never seen one before. _Which,_ Finn realizes, _she probably hasn’t._ She jolts around as Finn approaches, one hand on the blaster at her waist. Finn spreads his hands at his sides, non-threatening. “Good morning.”

She nods at him. “Good morning.”

“How are you?”

Cor stares at him. There’s still a streak of ash along her hairline. The long lines of her face are still bracketed with grief. Her fingers splay out in silent incredulity.

Finn nods. “All right if I sit here with you?”

She shrugs. Looks back out at the magnificent view.

Finn waits.

Cor pats the ground beside her. Her eyes track a pair of cliff divers as they wing out over the water, plunge beneath the waves, and resurface again, multi-tentacled prey trapped in their clawed feet.

Finn settles down beside her, leaving a careful surveillance-droid distance between them in an attempt to set her more at ease. He looks out over the ocean. Breathes in deeply, letting the crisp salt-bright air fill his lungs and wake him up completely. Streaks of salmon-gold spray out from the half-risen sun, hanging off the edge of the horizon.

When Finn looks at Cor again, he can see the lines of dried salt on her cheeks. “Nerro told me she talked to you,” he says. “That you’re joining us.”

Cor nods.

“I’ll be glad to have you on our team. Already led one rebellion, and inspired another. You’re a natural.”

Distant roar—an atmospheric assault lander approaches, escorted by a pair of X-wings from Blue Squadron. Cor’s head turns as though magnetized, watching its slow descent. When the dust clears from the shuttle’s landing, Finn sees two more next to it, already unloaded. They must have arrived in the last few hours, ferrying over squadrons of ex-troopers as Luke interrogates and approves them. Another one takes off moments later, on its way back to the _Subjugator_ for another squadron.

“We’re going to free them,” Finn’s voice scrapes low in his throat. “All of them. Troopers. Officers. Ground Crew. Children.”

Cor looks at him. The wind ruffles her hair like seagrass, a thousand tiny coils linked together, rippling in the rising tide. After a long moment, she nods.

Finn reaches out a hand to her. She takes it. They pull each other up, balancing near the edge of the cliff. The ocean is endless beyond them, wave upon wave upon wave.

“Then let’s go,” Cor rasps at last. “What are you waiting for?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. WOW. 
> 
> So, I started this fic on March 5. Five and a half months later, it's done. It has been such a crazy ride. Thank you, a thousand thank yous, all of the thank yous to [Zoe_Dameron,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Dameron/pseuds/Zoe_Dameron) my wonderful beta-reader, cheerleader, and hand-holder in times of need. A gorgeous bouquet of thank yous also to [drawingoddities](http://drawingoddities.tumblr.com/) for allowing me to use her beautiful artwork for the fic post on tumblr. And finally, to everyone who's left a comment on this fic: thank you so much for your support, encouragement, intriguing thoughts, screaming capslock, and love, all the love, so much love. It means the world to me. 
> 
> There will probably be a sequel, let's be real, I already have half a dozen plotbunnies for it. But I might finish the former child soldier!Finn/former POW!Poe modern AU WIP first... 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 to you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrits are love! Seriously, don't be shy. Let me know how I can be a better writer! 
> 
> And come say hi on [tumblr!](http://www.beautifullights1.tumblr.com) I am new to this tumblr thing, so if you'd like to reblog the [fic post](http://beautifullights1.tumblr.com/post/149084982387/fic-completed-chapter-27-of-fly-home-to-me) for a signal boost, I would be eternally grateful!


End file.
